


The World is All Forgetting

by nyoka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Angst, Babies, Curtain Fic, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Drama, Fluff, Kid Fic, M/M, Mild Language, Mpreg, Non-Graphic Violence, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnant!Dean, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-30
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:11:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyoka/pseuds/nyoka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”I know you’ve been through a hell of a lot already,” she says. “But raising these kids…it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do. But you’ll do it well and you’ll do it right. You wouldn’t be Dean Winchester if you didn’t.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> A canon-divergent Dean/Castiel domestic!fic with mpreg. Please see the full story masterpost [here at my tumblr](http://nyokafic.tumblr.com/post/34786004606/masterpost-the-world-is-all-forgetting) for further details, and see the end of this chapter for more story background. Soundtrack available [here](http://nyokafic.tumblr.com/post/35006615923/the-world-is-all-forgetting-the-soundtrack).

**one**

Dean's awake for several minutes before he cracks open his eyes. Mornings are slow-moving these days, and his body eases into them carefully, in no hurry to shake off the lingering comforts of sleep. He burrows deeper under his thick comforter for a long moment, hiding from the slice of October sun sliding in through the curtains, splintering into narrow bars of light as it fills the room. 

He's tired and a part of him feels like he could stay like this for a long time, but he knows he needs to get up. There are too many things around the house that need tending to, and if he stays in bed any longer, Mari's bound to make it her personal mission in life to wake him up. Dean loves his baby girl, but after a minute of her jumping on his bed and poking at him with her toes, Dean's poor nerves are shot for hours.

Dean yawns, rubbing his eyes and sliding the covers off of his body before eyeing the wide stretch of his abdomen. He reaches down, fingers dipping below the edge of the cotton sheet still covering his torso. His hand rests on the smooth skin of his slightly swollen belly. His friggin' baby bump. Dean snickers, shaking his head. _Holy shit_. 

He takes in how the slice of morning light falls across the freckled skin of his bare chest, arcing over the soft, rounded curve between his hipbones. Even though he's showing now, it's still kind of weird to think that he's actually carrying another kid. _His and Castiel's kid_. A son this time around. It'll never stop feeling insane that this is now somehow his life. That his new normal involves kids of his own. Dean's always known he was a _carrier_ , since most men are diagnosed at birth, but he never expected to actually _carry_ anything. Then again, he never expected Cas either.  
   
Dean breathes in deeply, lets his hand circle the lower part of his abdomen, and he almost jerks away when he feels that sudden flutter of motion. Even though this is not Dean's first rodeo, it's still strange to feel his own baby kick. The kid started getting active a couple of weeks ago, and Dean's been beating back curious hands anxious to rub his belly ever since. 

Dean sits up, regretting it immediately. He groans; his stomach churns and his head complains, a deep pressure pushing against his temples. He takes a deep breath and then another, hoping the stirring in his gut doesn't mean he'll lose what little food he was able to keep down last night. He counts to ten, breathes through his mouth, a few slow, steady inhales, and fights back the nausea until he feels solid enough to get on with his morning routine. Morning sickness for him only comes in short spurts, fortunately.

Dean pulls himself up, his feet padding over the cool, newly refurbished, wood floors of his bedroom. His feet get extra cold these days, and sometime during the night he pulled on a pair of the fuzzy wool socks Cas had given him last Christmas. Dean can hear noise coming from downstairs in the kitchen, the sound of running water, the morning news, pots and pans being moved across the stove, the familiar sound of Jemma's soft singing.

Dean stretches and crosses the room, kicking piles of dirty clothes to the room's far corners, frowning when he thinks about the loads of laundry he'll have to get to at some point this week. His bedroom's a mess, but it's always this way when Cas has been gone for weeks on end. Dean lets his eyes dance across the room, taking in the dark mahogany dresser, the giant, elegantly-trimmed wardrobe, and the overlarge wood bed-frame he and Cas had picked out together when they first moved in. The soft patchwork quilt covering the end of the bed is a gift from Jody, and the light blue curtains shading the windows are a gift from Jemma. The curtains allow just enough sunlight in, and it slants across the dark wood floor, spilling across the pile of dusty tomes Cas had left in two towering stacks by the doorway the last time he was here.

Dean grunts, turning his concentration back to the task at hand: looking for a pair of clean sweatpants since that's the only thing he really fits into these days. He finds one, stuffed behind the door of the closet and throws it on, along with a faded Metallica shirt that barely covers his rounded mid-section. Dean's had this shirt since his early twenties, from one of the first concerts he and Sam ever snuck into. The black's faded to a soft grey, and the letters are mostly gone, but he still wears the hell out of it, belly or no belly.

Dean opens the closet all the way to search for shoes, eyes passing over the mess of his t-shirts and worn jeans on the top shelf, and the hangers heavy with flannel shirts and Castiel's button-downs. He finds his slippers quick enough and pulls them on, letting his nose lead the way downstairs. 

*

Their home is an ancient, two-story ranch house that Dean's spent the last two years renovating from floor to ceiling. Nestled in the lowland mountain valleys of western North Carolina, on the eastern edge of the Blue Ridge Mountains, the three acres of land the Winchesters now call home are surrounded by oak and pine forests and rolling green hills as far as the eye can see.

Once upon a time it had been a farming homestead, and enough of it is still fenced-off that the few animals they do raise have space to roam. Dean shuffles down the stairs, noticing his handwork in the fine details of the hand-crafted built-in bookshelves that now line the living room walls, already filled to bursting with selections from Sam, Cas, and Bobby's book collections.

The main house has five bedrooms total, threes baths, an attic, and a basement/cellar. There are a couple of barns out back, a chicken coop, and two large work sheds. The kitchen's mostly-renovated, just waiting for the new set of cabinets that Dean had been working on before he found out he was pregnant. Over half of the house has windows opening onto a view of the valley, and the original hardwood floors are spread throughout. The place was old when they brought it, and a definite fixer-upper, but there was a spirit to it, something about it that they all liked, and more than anything it's the reason he and Cas decided to take it on. 

Dean had taken to woodworking after they first moved in, a way to take up his time and to redirect all the restless energy he couldn't use for hunting. Dean's always been good with his hands, and underneath his touch, pieces of wood seem to come to life. As a result, most of the furniture in the house is handmade, built with the thick, hardwoods found in the forest.

Dean moves through the living room now, picking up blankets and stray stuffed animals. The house is thick with the smells of breakfast, and his belly growls in anticipation, the baby kicking for extra emphasis. 

"We're getting food soon, take it easy on me, kiddo," Dean says, rubbing his belly and snorting soft laughter. 

Behind the living room is the old sitting room they'd converted into a library, which they use for most of their research when helping other hunters work a case. They're officially in hiding, having undergone an unexpected early retirement when Mari was born, so most of the hunting-related work they do these days is performed via telecomputing, using what resources and expertise they have to help other hunters out when Bobby tells them they're needed.

Dean stares at the living room, at the sunlight flooding in through the wide windows, at the coloring books and crayons covering the coffee table and the VHS tapes covering the couch. Some of his favorite hardback books are piled around the room for easy access when he's crashing on the couch at night, during those moments he's able to take time out for himself after Mari's been put to bed. He runs his hand along the mantle over the stone fireplace, fingers drifting in the dust collected there. The place is lived in, with Castiel and Dean's touches in everything from the paint to the furniture. It's _home_ , as crazy a concept as that still is to Dean's wanderlust-filled psyche.

Dean finally leaves the living room and heads for the kitchen. Their black furball, _Colt_ , is lapping at its dish of milk, eyeing Dean skeptically as he enters the kitchen. Dean gives the cat a stink eye, and from across the room, he hears the soft whisper of "Papa!"

"Heya, baby girl," Dean says, smiling wide when he sees Mari seated at the kitchen island, waving to him and grinning toothily behind a spoon piled high with grits.

"Good thing you're here...I'm guessing she was five seconds away from running up and waking you," Jemma says from where she's standing in front of the stove, flashing Dean a crooked smile.

Dean laughs, settling down beside Mari at the island and leaning down to kiss his daughter on her forehead. Mari smiles shyly, and Dean ruffles her headful of wild, dirty-blond curls. 

"Since Papa's up now, can I get a taste of your breakfast?" he asks her, and Mari bobs her head, picking up a slice of bacon from her plate and feeding Dean with slow, careful movements. 

Dean moans as he chews the cooling slice of pork, petting his belly and smiling down at his little girl. "Me and your baby brother appreciate it, pumpkin," he says, watching as she uses a napkin to wipe at her strawberry jam-covered mouth and chin.

Mari smiles up at him, and Dean smiles back as she tackles the stain on the front of her Powderpuff Girls t-shirt as well. His baby girl doesn't talk much, but she understands quite a lot. She has an incredible command of language (several in fact), but she prefers silence more times than not, meaningful looks and touches and hand motions. Dean use to worry about it, wondering if she was sick or if he'd done something wrong in the way he'd brought her up. He remembers the silence that stole his own voice when he was her age, and the trauma that was the cause of it. But the doctors assure him that she's doing fine, no trauma or undiagnosed developmental disorders. She just likes her silence.

Mari hands him a jam-smeared biscuit, pointing to his belly. "Yeah, baby bro is still hungry," Dean chuckles, taking a bite out of the biscuit and licking the excess jam from his fingers. He turns his head just in time to see Jemma set a steaming plate of breakfast on the table in front of him. Biscuits covered with gravy, scrambled eggs, and grits piled high. _Hell, yeah_.

"You are too good to me, sweetheart," Dean says, winking at Jemma as he sits back in his chair and sips at the glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice she'd poured for him and Mari.

"Oh, I know," Jemma says, smirking. "How ya feeling, sugah?" she adds, her Southern accent pulling strong at her vowels.

"Better," Dean says, cracking open the jar of peach preserves Amelia dropped off when she and Sammy stopped by a couple of weeks ago. Apparently canning is the happy couple's newest hobby, and as a result Dean now has a kitchen pantry stocked with preserves. They taste amazing though, rich and sweet, and Dean spreads a dollop on his biscuit, smiling at the whole slices of peaches that cover the bread. 

Jemma turns from the stove, her smile bright and her eyes knowing. "You need to start taking your vitamins."

"I know, I know," Dean says with a nod. "I see Doc Benson later this week, and I'll stop by the pharmacy when I'm in town."

Jemma nods, settling down across from Dean and Mari at the island with her own plate. Jemma Sutton, their midwife, closest neighbor, and sometimes nanny. A striking 33-year-old with soft olive skin and long, straight black hair that falls just below her waist. She's lived her entire life in these mountains, and she was pivotal in getting Dean, Castiel, and Sam settled here when they first arrived. Most of Jemma's family still resides on the Cherokee reservation where she grew up, but she and her daddy have lived all over the region. Her daddy was a hunter and a good friend of Bobby's, and as a result Jemma knows enough about the life to understand the unique situation the Winchesters and Castiel find themselves in when it comes to raising a family that's...a little _different_. On the nights Jemma stays over to look after Mari, she always cooks breakfast in the mornings. And goddamn, but the woman can cook.

Jemma's watching Dean closely, giving him the sort of look Dean knows means she's worried about him. And when Jemma gives you that kind of look, you listen. There's something about her that demands attention: she's a tall, statuesque woman, and that's part of it. But it's her quiet presence that also adds a kind of solemnity to her words. 

"Did you read the new book I gave you?" Jemma asks, adding sugar to her grits.

"Uh," Dean says, chewing around a mouthful of biscuit, crumbs falling to his shirt. "The thick one?"

Jemma shoots him a disbelieving look, and shakes her head. "The more you know about natural birth, the easier this will go. Did you think about a water birth like I asked?"

Dean finishes chewing, taking a long gulp of juice before turning to look Jemma in the eyes. "You know, I don't know how I feel about delivering my kid into a pool of water."

Jemma smiles softly. "I know it sounds..."

"Like the crazy hippie crap Sam likes to go on and on about?" Dean interrupts with a huff, eyeing the percolating coffee on the counter and wishing he could have a cup. Just one cup. He'd given it up the minute he realized he was pregnant, but the cravings have only worsened. 

"Cutting back on the caffeine was a good idea, Dean," Jemma says, as if reading his mind. She's smirking at him, all while adding creamer to her own damn coffee.

"For Danny," Mari whispers softly from beside him. She piles another spoonful of grits into her mouth, but the buttery mixture seems to be landing more on her face than in her mouth. She looks at him for a moment before sharing some sort of secret look with Jemma. 

Dean grunts and wolfs down the rest of his eggs, feeling ganged up on as always by his two best ladies. He swallows around a gulp of orange juice and rubs his palm over his belly. "Kid, you need to hurry it up there," he says under his breath. "Papa needs his coffee." He smirks as he turns to glance back at Jemma, adding, "Okay, so tell me about this water birth idea you've got in your head."

"You sure?" Jemma asks, an eyebrow quirked.

"Go for it," Dean says, shrugging. He pokes at the last of the eggs on his plate. He glances at Mari, who has already eaten everything on her plate and is currently working on her second biscuit; his baby girl has definitely inherited her Papa's appetite.

"You're not going to start ranting about new-agey hoodoo witchcraft again?" Jemma asks, giving him a skeptical look.

"I'm listening, okay," Dean says, rolling his eyes. Admittedly, he's a little curious. Mari was born in an emergency delivery C-section, because she'd been a breeched birth. It had been crazy and hard, and Dean had been so drugged up he hardly remembers anything about the birth. But being out here in the middle of nowhere, he can't rely on getting to a hospital, and it's safer that they don't go into the bigger cities anyway. Sam and Cas had thought going the natural birth route was a better option this time around if they could, especially with Jemma so close by. Jemma's delivered hundreds of babies in-home, according to her own boasting, and she's one of the only midwives in the region that specializes in carrier births. Although some of the basics are the same, carrier labor is trickier than female labor, and it's still a very niched field in midwifery.

"Water births tend to result in a more relaxed, less painful experience," Jemma explains, sipping at her coffee. "And more importantly for men, it decreases the risk of tearing and reduces the use of episiotomy, which happens a lot in carrier labor."

"Yeah, I read about that in a book Doc Benson gave me," Dean says, biting at his lip. He's trying to do more reading this time around. With Mari, he'd basically gone in blind. They had been on the run at the time, hunting while trying to get Hell and Heaven off their trail. Taking any time to learn more about his 'rare condition' was out of the cards. It had been enough just trying to stay alive.

"Glad you're reading someone's books," Jemma snarks, standing and moving towards the counter, where she grabs another biscuit and butters it.

Dean rolls his eyes, glancing at Mari for a moment before turning back to Jemma. "Just tell me one thing: is it safe?" he asks, hand settling on the curve of his belly.

She turns to Dean and smiles softly. "Look, Dean. I'm going to do all I can to make the delivery as safe as possible, I promise you that. For you and your son."

Dean purses his lips thoughtfully. "Okay. So tell me more."

*

Dean sips at the cup of green tea in his hands, slightly sweetened with sugar. Jemma replaced his coffee with a regiment of medicinal and herbal teas, and a bunch of other witchy concoctions made from the plants, roots, and herbs she and Mari like to harvest from the garden out back.

Dean shuffles out of the kitchen and stands behind the front screen door, watching Mari and Jemma say goodbye on the porch. Mari's laughing at whatever Jemma's telling her, and then they both turn back to look at Dean, smiling wide. Dean pushes open the door, the rusty hinges creaking under the strain of motion. He'll have to add new metal hinges to his list of things to buy when he makes a trip into town. The screen door slams shut behind him as he makes his way onto the porch, the thump of the door settling into the frame sounding loud in the quiet of the early morning.

"Tell Cas, I want to talk to him when he gets into town," Jemma says, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to Dean's cheek. "He's been missed."

"Yeah, I'll pass the message," Dean says, voice sounding rough. Cas has been gone for four weeks now.

Jemma shoots him a soft, understanding look before squeezing his free hand and turning away. Mari comes over and takes Dean's hand in her tiny one, and they both turn to watch Jemma leave. Her sleek, red Ford pickup is easily able to navigate the steep gravel curves leading away from the homestead in a way the Impala has never been able to manage so cleanly. The truck's tires kick up a cloud of dust and loose rocks as it goes.

When the truck's just a spot in the distance, Dean turns his eyes to his daughter. "Want to hang out here for a while, kiddo?" he asks.

Mari nods eagerly, pulling Dean toward her favorite spot on the porch. One of Dean's favorite things about the house is actually this porch. It's huge and stretches all around the house, with a set of stairs leading down on both sides. Mari loves the western edge of the porch, and that's where they head now. It overlooks the forest, a hundred miles of wild beauty. Tall, emerald trees and thick foothills are set against a background of scarred blue mountains. The air here is fresher than anything Dean's ever breathed, as crisp and sharp as the blue sky above them.

It's a different life out here, such a change-up from the gritty reality of the road. Admittedly, it took some getting used to. At first, Dean had thought it would be impossible to adjust at all. His previous stints at retirement, at trying to ease a lifelong hunter into the domestic life, had been disastrous. His short time with Lisa and Ben still sits heavy with regret in his memory. Dean had thought leaving behind everything he'd ever known would mean having to change everything about himself. But it hadn't required such a huge sacrifice as that. Dean simply had to shift his priorities, redirect his energy. He's still fighting to protect his family, just in a different way. 

Sam's close by too, and that's important to Dean. His brother's just thirty miles up the road, living with his fiance Amelia in a town called Woodhaven. He teaches history at the local community college, and Amelia works as the town's vet, but both of them (and their damn dog) spend huge chunks of time out here keeping Dean and Mari company, especially when Cas is away.

Looking now at Mari, at how the morning light catches the warm, brown highlights in her otherwise sun-gold hair, at the spattered honey-colored freckles across her face, at the mossy green in her curious eyes, Dean knows he made the right choice coming out here. Mari leans against the railing of the porch, her face turned into the sun, tiny pink lips curved into a smile. Dean's heart clenches in his chest; he loves her so goddamn much.

"Come here, pumpkin," Dean whispers, and Mari bounces over and takes a seat beside Dean on the porch swing. He and Cas installed the swing last spring, and it's now everyone's favorite place to hang out in the evenings and watch the sun set over the mountains. 

The warmer days will soon be coming to an end, which means less time spent outside for them. Mari loves the outdoors though, thrives in the mountain air. Her favorite pastime is running through the fields of wildflowers that surround the farm. Sam's been homeschooling her, and they usually do all their lessons on the picnic tables Dean installed out back because they can't manage to keep Mari inside. Unfortunately Mari has inherited the pale skin of her fathers, and she freckles like nobody's business in the summer, while her hair lightens to a soft blond that reminds Dean of her namesake and grandmother, Mary Winchester. 

"Papa, when's Daddy coming home?" she asks on a soft breath, eyes wide as they regard him curiously. Dean startles for a moment, surprised to hear her speak a full sentence. She's watching him with that quiet intensity she inherited from Cas. Dean's throat feels suddenly dry, and he has to cough to clear it. He says, "Soon, baby girl. Soon." He pulls her closer to him, his arm wrapping around her tiny shoulder. She places her head gently against Dean's belly, her small hand cupping the swell of it. They rock together on the swing, Dean humming _Hey Jude_ as the morning sun paints the trees in bands of gold.

*  
June was the last time Dean and Cas fought about the war.

Three in the morning, minutes before Cas was due to head into battle, the two of them standing in the middle of their dark bedroom.

"Cas, we need you here," Dean whispered, voice gone hoarse from the effort of speaking. His throat felt tight, sore, tongue too thick. They'd both been yelling, and it hadn't done either of them any favors.

When Castiel's eyes finally met his, they were red-rimmed and lined in dark circles. "You know there is no place I'd rather be," he whispered, and he sounded as exhausted as Dean felt. They'd had this fight too many times before.

"Dammit, Cas," Dean said, exhaling. The air hung heavy around them, and it made it hard to breathe.

Castiel stepped forward, reached out a hand and placed it on Dean's cheek. "This war calls for much sacrifice," he said, even though the words sounded like he had to force them out, more breathless whisper than anything else.

"Why do we have to make all of them?" Dean growled, sliding his hand behind Castiel's head, fingers tangling in the thick mess of his hair. Castiel's eyes darted to Dean's lips, then away. Dean cupped the back of Castiel's neck then, turned the angel's gaze back to him. "Why us, huh?" he whispered. "Tell me that, Cas."

"Because there is no one else," Castiel said, voice sharp, a precision cut. He leaned forward, hands sliding up into Dean's short hair, and then he touched his lips to Dean's own. Soft, chaste; a goodbye kiss. The overwhelming, familiar taste of him hit Dean like a lightning strike, and like always, it felt like he was burning from the inside out. 

Dean groaned, sucked Castiel's lips into his mouth. Castiel hesitated for only a moment, then went with it. They were on each other so fast it sent Dean's mind spinning, the two of them colliding against their bedroom door. Cas in that moment was wild and alive and fierce, his quick, battle-ready hands grabbing Dean's thighs and lifting Dean like he weighed nothing at all. He manhandled Dean against the bedroom wall, wrapped Dean's legs around his waist and held Dean up as his eyes locked on Dean's own, intense and determined.

"You are who I choose, every time," Castiel whispered, and his voice was pure gravel, a sound that sent every nerve in Dean's body sparking. "You know that. I'm doing this for you, for Mari, for us."

Castiel's mouth was wet, impossibly hot as it took Dean's own, and Dean sucked at Castiel's tongue, hard and possessive. The kiss was bruising, rough, and everything that had been pent up between them in the long months Cas had been away at war. Dean pulled Cas closer even as his own back pushed harder against the wall, his hands tangling in Castiel's hair, his teeth pulling at Castiel's bottom lip, the angel's hard stubble burning a path down Dean's neck. Dean tasted blood, the sharp bite of copper as he sucked at Castiel's mouth. Cas growled, hips jerking as he thrust against Dean, fingers gripping so tight against Dean's shoulders, in the morning Dean knew there would be bruises. 

Sometimes with them sex felt more like a battle. 

Their hands were rough and needy, and Dean was so desperate for a piece of Cas that he couldn't even stop to think about anything else. It was frantic hands and pants pushed down around calves, the slide of hot, sweat-slick skin as Cas thrust inside of him, only spit-coated fingers to smooth the way. 

Cas came buried inside of Dean, with his teeth biting down hard against Dean's neck. Dean groaned as he felt himself tighten around Castiel's cock, coming himself, and the sensation of it sent white-hot flashes along the edges of the darkness behind his closed eyes.

They breathed together for long moments, pressed up against the wall, half-naked and wounded, locked together, two soldiers fighting the most important battle of their lives. 

On a warm day at the end of July, six weeks later, Dean found out he was pregnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **STORY NOTES:** This is a canon-based AR, that diverges from canon at the end of S5. In this universe, after the events of Swan Song, Cas resurrected Sam (soul intact) from Hell. Sam and Dean returned to hunting, while Cas continued commanding his soldiers in the Angel Civil War. Things took an unexpected turn for Team Free Will with the arrival of Dean and Castiel’s first child. This sent Dean and Sam into early retirement, protected by their networks of friends in the hunter underground. They make a life for themselves in the mountains of North Carolina the best way they can despite the dangers still all around from the forces of Hell and Heaven. The story opens four years after they first went into hiding, as their lives are about to change again.
> 
> Further shifts from current canon: In this world, Anna was resurrected. Bobby is alive. Rufus is alive. Gwen Campbell is alive. Balthazar is alive. Anna, Rachel, Inias, and Balthazar are all part of Castiel’s new garrison, and they are helping Cas fight the Civil War in Heaven. Bobby is still based in South Dakota, and he’s married to Jody Mills. It’s been five years since the end of S5, so the year is circa 2015.
> 
> A note on the nature of MPREG in this fic: The story follows SPN canon pre-S6, with one huge exception: in this “universe” there’s a genetic mutation in men that allows some men (30% of the male population) to conceive and bare children. These men are called _carriers_. Dean is one of those men.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ”I know you’ve been through a hell of a lot already,” she says. “But raising these kids…it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do. But you’ll do it well and you’ll do it right. You wouldn’t be Dean Winchester if you didn’t.”
> 
> A canon-based Dean/Castiel domestic!fic. This is a work-in-progress being penned for November's Nanowrimo challenge.

**two**

The fade of summer is in everything. The fields out back are a golden brown, the tallgrass twisting to-and-fro with the strong wind as the pitch dark, heavy-bellied rain clouds roll in overhead. The air is thick, but cool, and Dean can feel the rains coming, feel it down in his bones, his old war injuries smarting from the change in temperature.

"Mari, it's time to go inside!" Dean calls out, watching his baby girl pause in her explorations of the outside world, turning to face him and waving. She runs his way, little legs sweeping her through the waves of grass, her yellow dress twirling around her as she moves. She pauses in front of him and looks up at him pointedly, and Dean chuckles, reaching down and picking her up and settling her against his hip. 

"I ain't gonna be able to pick you up after a while," Dean grunts, swinging them around and walking back toward the house. "Danny's getting too big."

Mari nods solemnly, placing a hand over Dean's protruding belly. Dean grins up at his daughter in his arms, sighing a bit as he takes in the pieces of grass and twigs tangled in the curls of her pigtails, the dirt smudges on her cheek. 

"Bath time, chica," he mumbles, and Mari's green eyes light up as she nods fervently. 

"Bubbles," she whispers as they climb up the stairs to the porch and enter the warm house, filled with the aroma of the spaghetti sauce he'd left simmering on the stove when he went to gather her up.

"Bubbles? Really?" Dean asks, arching a skeptical brow. "Do you remember what happened the last time I let you have a bubble bath?" Memories of the bathroom and hallway filling with an avalanche of bubbles and soapy water flicker through Dean's mind. Mari's burgeoning mojo had somehow gone a little haywire, responding to some inner desire of hers to see the entire upstairs turned into Bubbleland.

Dean looks at his kid, and Mari gives him one of those longing looks that remind Dean way too much of Cas. 

"Okay, okay," Dean huffs, relenting and putting her down on the ground. He watches her scamper up the stairs, making a beeline for the bathroom, humming happily along the way.

"Friggin' bubbles," he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

Dean Winchester, to put it mildly, is so completely whipped. 

*

It's not the isolation that gets to him. It's the time. Dean has way too much of it: time to think, time to remember, time to reflect on a long, crazy life that still feels more dream (okay, _nightmare_ ) than reality. 

Time to think about all the shit he's done wrong, and all the ways he can still screw it all up.

Mari's a good distraction though. That kid's all heart and soul, and Dean can't help but think, in those moments he lets himself feel a little proud, that he's doing something right with her. When she smiles up at him, Dean's knees go a little weak, and he thinks, _Yeah, I made the right decision_.

It's not like Dean or Cas have any experience when it comes to fathers and daughters. But Dean thinks for two men who are themselves the products of deadbeat dads, he and Cas aren't doing half bad in the dad department. Mari and Cas have this crazy intense bond going, with their telepathic communication and midnight flights to the Serengeti and their beautiful brilliant minds that spark every time they come together in a room. But Dean and Mari meet on another level: they communicate through touch, through music, through laughter. The kid actually knows the words to most of Dean's favorite albums. She learned Spanish by crawling into his lap with a bowl of Froot Loops every afternoon last summer to watch their favorite soap opera on _Telemundo_. She knows when Dean's had a bad night, old nightmares making unwanted visits. She'll curl up against him like their cat Colt, and hum one of Dean's favorite songs. Theirs is a language of tire swings and car-shaped pancakes on Saturday mornings; giant puzzles and Play-Doh castles. Evenings driving through the back roads, with Mari on his lap, her small hands wrapped around the Impala's wheel, and Dean smiling wide, knowing both his girls fit together so perfectly.

It's not that Dean's become the ideal family man, by any means. He keeps up with his hunter training, even though he doesn't get to use it much. He practices shooting in the range he set up about a mile from the house. He runs every morning, combining both calisthenics and weight-training to keep in shape. He keeps one foot in the hunter world, helping where he can, when he can, as long as it doesn't put his family in harm's way. But his first priority is, and has always been, keeping his family safe and together. And that means doing the one thing his own Dad never could do -- keeping his kids out of the life. Giving them a real childhood.

He's trying, lord knows, he's trying.

But Dean's no fool. He still keeps enough ammo in the house to arm a small army. He installed a panic room in the basement styled after Bobby's, with enough ritual supplies to raise Heaven and Hell both. Underneath his and Castiel's California King, there's two duffles packed with weapons. Dean can still recite the Rituale Romanum backwards and forward. And he's never forgotten how to carve into a body until there's nothing left of the other soul. Dean knows what he is (a killer), and he remembers perfectly well that this is what he spent all of his life doing.

But somewhere along the way Dean learned he could be more than a killer. He could be a father too. Cas and Mari showed him that. 

*

Dean spends large chunks of his day working on the house. He has always been good with figuring out how things fit together. Building things from scratch and fixing the things he already had were two of the most common features of his childhood. Most of what he knows about home repair and renovation he learned by doing, on the road, working on the crumbled-down structures John had them staying in growing up. Sam played Dean's _Tool Time_ assistant back then, when Dean would check out books from the local library on plumbing and roofing, figuring out how to fix pipes and repair what he could around the house. John would share what skills he'd picked up along the way as well, and somehow Dean was able to patch together a working skills-set that enabled him to do pretty well when picking up odd jobs on the road.

Now though, all he's needing to work on is his own _home_. The house is his pet project. He's got a desk covered with architectural designs, sketches, and property plans for the main structure and the add-ons he's been envisioning. Mari's his assistant these days, and the kid's smart for a four year old. Like... _really_ smart. She knows her screwdrivers and basic tool sets, and she has a keen sense for when something's not working right and for how things should work. She also has a photographic memory, or what Sammy calls _eidetic memory_. Dean can show her something once, and she'll always remember it. Dean thinks it's probably some of that angel DNA at work, but neither he nor Cas are experts on nephilim genetics, and it's not something they'd risk asking other angels about. Mari's existence is only known to a trusted few. 

Mari began reading at the age of two, and again Dean doesn't know if his kid's a typical child prodigy or if this too is some kind of half-angel thing, but regardless, it's made it easier to keep her entertained. She goes through books like Sam used to, and according to Sam, at four she's already reading at a sixth-grade level. She's worked her way through complicated math, multiplication and long division tackled and mastered months ago, and Dean knows in a couple of years she'll be doing math at a level far exceeding anything he reached before dropping out of school. 

Sam's a good teacher though, knows how to communicate his geek enthusiasm in a way that's not too embarrassing for everyone involved. Mari adores him fiercely, and watching the two of them interact does something funny to Dean's heartbeat. It's like seeing his two worlds merge, the first kid he ever raised and now his own baby girl. Sometimes it feels so surreal, which is hilarious, considering how surreal his entire life is. A brother with demon blood and a kid with angel grace. Can his life get any weirder? Dean laughs when he think about it, but the truth is: Sam and Mari are probably the two best things he's ever done with his life.

Gwen teases Dean for being such a homebody these days. But after thirty-some years of following the winding road, having somewhere to park for a while is actually kind of nice. Along with woodwork and house repair, and the other chores for the general upkeep of the homestead, Dean, to everyone's surprise, also enjoys cooking. (And Dean will punch anyone in the face who dares to crack a Betty fuckin' Crocker joke in his vicinity, goddammit.) He finds that cooking centers him in some weird way. He did most of the cooking growing up, anyway, but he never had the time to learn how to make complicated dishes. But now he has the time, a shit-ton of it, and Mari loves helping him in the kitchen in the mornings, in between their favorite Food Network shows. Jemma taught Dean a lot about the local Appalachian cuisine, as well as standards from her own family (God, does Dean love her fry bread and butternut squash dumplings), but the rest of his mad skills he owes to mastering the _Joy of Cooking_. Dean is a friggin' Iron Chef, if he may say so himself.

Sometimes though, the old house feels too big, too silent. The simple truth is that everything feels too big when Cas is gone, and Dean doesn't know how much longer he can stay in one place without him, not knowing what's happening to him, not being in the middle of the action, kicking ass together like the old days.

 _Angel wars can list millennia_ , Anna had once warned him. _And this war is unlike anything we've fought before._

Dean knew what he was choosing when he chose this path, when he chose to make his life with Cas and Mari, when they decided to stay together any way they could. They had all agreed, back in February 2011, two weeks after Dean had given birth. Sam, Bobby, Cas, and Dean, little Mari wrapped in Castiel's arms, had huddled together in Bobby's living room, taking stock of their situation. They'd agreed: Cas had to keep leading his forces into battle, and he had to end this war. But Dean had to stay here on Earth, do everything in his power to keep Mari safe in the meantime. Cas was a target, and so was his family. Dean and Mari and Sam had to go underground.

But Dean's never been good with loneliness, with being separated from someone he considers his family. He's not okay with the weeks that pass without word or contact from Castiel. The slow march of unnumbered days between them. And now with Danny coming, unexpected but not unwanted, Dean's world seems to be shifting again. His family is growing, but it just means the risk is growing, the stakes higher than ever.

Sometimes, when he tries to sleep, he feels like he can hear Cas breathing beside him, like he can feel the press of his phantom lips against his forehead. Sometimes he falls asleep with Castiel's name on his tongue.

Now though, Dean sighs heavily, shaking off his troubled thoughts and hormone-induced mood swings. He stumbles from his half-made bed and tosses _Breakfast of Champions_ onto his end table. He shuffles over to his bedroom closet, opening it up and reaching for the top shelf, running his hands over the papers and folders stacked there. His fingers brush over the shoebox, and he smiles.

He lifts it out and brings it back with him to his bed. The old box is filled to the brim, mostly with pictures and documents and other knickknacks he and Cas started keeping after they settled here. Mari's birth certificate is there, as well as her ultrasound photos. Dean's fingers brush over the black-and-white images, huffing a smile as he recalls how he felt the first time he saw them. When he first really understood exactly what he was getting into. After he sees Doc Benson later this week, he'll add Danny's first photos here too, beside his big sister's. _Shit_. He still can't believe he's having another kid. Cas and his goddamn angel sperm, Dean chuckles. 

Dean's smile falls when he finds the picture he was looking for: a faded snapshot taken by Sammy of Dean, Cas, and Mari at the beach last summer. They were visiting Kai Turner, Rufus' new wife, at her family's island off the coast of South Carolina. The photo shows Mari in a yellow-and-blue polka-dotted bathing suit, and she's standing in the middle of Dean and Cas, holding both their hands as they walk down the beach. They're smiling at each other, and Dean's freckled and sun-burned from head to toe, and Castiel's dark hair is windswept and chaotic. If Dean closes his eyes now, he can still feel the wind on his face, feel the sand squished under his feet, smell the briny sea.

He can see Castiel turning and smiling up at him, Mari held tight between them. The sound of the waves in the background, the falling light of sunset sparking off of Castiel's dark hair like a fire.

 _I love you both so much_ , Castiel said, voice rough and windblown.

 _Such a friggin' sap_ , Dean groaned, but his face stretched into a grin as he pulled his family close to him, squeezing them tight. Against his shoulder he felt the tickle of Mari's laughing face. Castiel's warm body wrapped around them both, and in the distance he heard the clicking of Sam's camera, holding time still for a moment. But Dean held on tighter.

*

" _Mariellen Samantha Winchester_!" Dean rumbles, taking in the state of the living room. Scraps of cloth and ribbon cover the couch and coffee table, and the floor is a warzone: spilled paint, scattered beads, pieces of lace, mountains of sequins, unraveled balls of yarn, glue guns, strips of duct tape, and is that _glitter_ stuck to his custom-built shelf? _Oh, hell no._

Mari pauses, standing up on the couch, eyes wide and guilty, her hands holding up a wad of pink tissue paper. She looks at Dean and whispers, "Sorry, Papa."

And all the while Anna's laughing in the corner of the living room, bent over herself, her cheeks gone as red as her hair. "Sorry, Dean," she says in between gasps of breath. "We got carried away."

Dean sighs, shaking his head. "You are a horrible babysitter," he mumbles. 

"We were working on her costume for the Halloween party," Anna says around a hiccuped laugh, as if that justifies the tornado of lace and sequins that hit his living room.

"A party I don't even think she should go to," Dean grunts, clearing off a place for him to sit down in his favorite recliner. He picks up a pink feather boa and shakes his head before tossing it to the floor, and then slowly settles himself down, hand coming up to his belly as his back rests against the pillowed back of the chair. Ah, much better, he thinks. His back's been killing him.

"You're just being a spoilsport," Anna says, helping Mari down from the couch. They find a place for themselves on the floor, in between a bag of cotton balls and a pile of rainbow pipe cleaners.

"Halloween's overrated," Dean says, reclining his seat and propping his feet up on the leg rest. He picks up the book on building a greenhouse he'd been reading yesterday, and opens it to the bookmarked page.

"Says the man who spent last Halloween sitting on the porch and eating three bags of Tootsie Rolls... _all by himself_ ," Anna quips, shaking her head as she shoots him a faux-scandalized look.

"They were on sale at Costco!" Dean huffs, scowling at her.

Mari looks at him then too, shaking her head like Anna probably taught her to. And Dean pouts at them both, ganged up on as usual, before turning to read about the best winter crops to grow in their soil type.

About an hour later, Dean's standing in the kitchen's walk-in pantry, figuring out their lunch for the day. He can hear Anna and Mari still giggling in the living room, voices raised above the Joni Mitchell that's playing on Dean's vintage record player. Anna loves Joni, and she's gotten Mari to learn the words to several albums, and every time the two of them get together, it's a full on concert.

Dean exits the pantry and picks up the "World's Best Mom!" mug that Sam brought him as a gag gift two Christmases ago from the counter and sips at his black tea. Sam had thought Dean would kick his ass for the teasing, but Dean just smirked at him and made a point of drinking from the mug every time Sam came around. 

Deciding on a menu, Dean takes the loaf of fresh flaxseed bread from the bread box, and grabs the mayo, lettuce, and tomatoes from the fridge. He sets everything out on the huge granite-topped island situated in the middle of the kitchen. He hums as he spreads slices of turkey and roast beef, along with crisp lettuce and juicy tomatoes, on each piece of bread.

He's sucking mayo off of his finger when Anna and Mari make their way into the kitchen. "Taking a break?" he asks, arching a brow.

"I think Mari's hungry," Anna says, smiling as she runs her fingers through Mari's tussled hair, which by the way, is covered with sparkly gold glitter. Dean sighs, because glitter is friggin' evil. It gets everywhere, and it never leaves. Stupid glitter.

Putting it out of his mind, Dean turns back to the task at hand, lathering the bread slices with his homemade thick, creamy mayonnaise. Anna helps Mari up into one of the stools attached to the kitchen island before taking a seat herself. They both sit, elbows propped on the island top and chins in their hands, watching Dean make the sandwiches.

"Can you add some more pickles to mine?" Anna asks, voice teasing, and Dean glances at her before rolling his eyes pointedly and adding a couple more sweet pickles to her plate. He loads all three plates with salty potato chips, and then he cuts Mari's sandwich into quarter slices before placing her plate in front of her. Mari smiles, petting her stomach to signify she's happy with Dean's lunch selection. 

"Eat up then, kiddo," he says, wiping his hands on a dish towel, taking the third plate, and settling beside Anna in the free stool at the island.

"Hey, I noticed the new gramophone," Anna says before taking a big bite of her sandwich, smacking her lips in satisfaction.

"Yeah, Amelia got it for me at an estate sale in Chapel Hill last month," Dean says, licking mayo from his lips and chewing loudly. He swallows and adds, "I fixed it up, and now it plays real sweet. I started playing some of my Dad's old vinyls on it."

Anna nods with a smile, and they both eat in silence for a while. Dean can't help but grin when he sees Mari taking slow, but savoring bites of her sandwich. He stares at her for a minute before he picks up his own sandwich again, sinks his teeth into it, and devours half a chunk of it in a single bite. It's good and tasty, and he can feel Danny kicking around in his belly, probably just as happy.

"How is he?" Dean asks Anna after a time, food rolling around in his mouth, half-chewed even as he asks the question. It's the one question he'd been holding on to since Anna first popped in this morning, saying that Cas sent her to check in on them. Cas will do that from time to time -- send members of his garrison to check on them when he's not able to make it himself. At first it use to annoy Dean considering his tolerance for angels outside of Cas is pretty low, but he's grown to appreciate the visits. 

Anna, of course, shares her own crazy history with the Winchester family. When she'd turned up a few months after Cas rescued Sam from the Cage, they hadn't known what to make of it. How'd she come back? Was she friend or foe now? But in the months and years since, Anna had proven herself one of their best allies, taking up arms and fighting at Castiel's side in the civil war. Like Castiel's resurrections, Anna's return to Earth will likely always remain a mystery. But Dean's glad she's alive. When they were on the run after Lucifer's fall, she'd helped Cas and Dean get through Mari's birth, and she remains, until this day, one of the only people Dean trusts with his daughter. In fact, she's Mari's godmother.

Anna watches him for a moment, before putting the remaining half of her sandwich down. She sucks the mayo off her fingers, wiping them on a napkin. She looks at Mari for a moment, probably weighing what she should say in front of her, before meeting Dean's eyes. "I'm sorry he couldn't come today. He'd been planning to come, and he'd been so excited to see you both, but something happened to one of our cells in Budapest. Cas was needed there."

Dean nods, shoving a potato chip into his mouth, chewing slowly. "Is he doing alright?"

"Yes," Anna says, nodding. "He's safe and thinking of you and Mari."

Dean swallows, and his food suddenly feels like a lead weight in his stomach. He clears his throat and sips slowly at his glass of water. He glances at Mari for a long moment; she's munching on a pickle, smiling to herself. His eyes meet Anna's again, and he says, his voice a low whisper, "Tell him he's needed here, okay?"

Anna closes her eyes, breathes deep, and nods slowly. When she opens her eyes again she says, "I will, Dean. I'm sorry he couldn't come today."

Dean nods, sitting back in his chair. He plays with the napkin in front of him, eyes turning toward the kitchen window. The rain's finally falling. 

*

Dean holds Mari in his arms as they wait behind the screen door, watching Sam's black Ford Explorer navigate the ruts in the drive, eventually pulling to a stop in front of the house. A moment later the engine shuts off, and Sam's untangling his too-large body from the driver's seat, Amelia and that dog of theirs tumbling out of the car after him. The couple stands for a minute, looking around, limbs stretching in the evening air.

Dean opens the screen door and puts Mari down, and then she's running full force, her four-year-old legs pumping and her arms held out high. "Uncle Sammy!" she yells.

"My favorite niece!" Sam bellows, stepping forward to pick her up, swooping her high in the air, an act that always sends her giggling.

"She's your only niece," Dean growls out from the doorway, just as the dog starts barking, trying to get Mari's attention as well. 

Mari laughs delightedly, breathless and giddy with it, and puts her arms around Sam's neck as Sam settles her on his hip. Dean smirks, shaking his head. His kid's a charmer.

"Heya Dean," Amelia greets, a smile spreading across her face. She kneels down beside their dog, silencing the old mutt with a pat on the head and some whispers to its ear. She turns her gaze toward Dean, asking, "How's it going?"

"Not bad," Dean says. "How was the drive up?"

"Not too bad. It only rained part of the way," she says, standing and walking forward to give him a hug, before pulling away and taking a good look at his belly. "Wow," she says, shaking her head.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean says, shooing her off.

"You're starting to really show," Sam states the obvious, coming up beside Amelia, Mari held tight in his arms. His baby girl has her head resting against Sam's shoulder, her smile soft as Sam gently rubs her back.

Dean decides to ignore his brother's comment. "Come on in," he says instead, waving them forward as he climbs the steps back toward the front door. He pushes open the screen door, the rusty hinges creaking, and Sam and Amelia follow behind him into the house. He leads them towards the living room, which Anna had helped him to clean up earlier before she headed out. 

"I still don't know about you taking Mari to that party," Dean says as he settles onto the couch, Colt jumping from the top cushion and to the ground before dashing out of the living room.

"Well, yeah, you know I feel the same way about Halloween," Sam says, placing Mari on his lap as he sits on the loveseat, Amelia curling at his side. The dog barks once before settling at Sam's feet in front of the sofa. "But in this instance, it's okay. We know all the families, and they're really great, Dean. She'll be surrounded by kids her age, all of them in crazy cute costumes, and Amelia and I won't let her out of our sight, I promise."

Dean grunts, scrubbing his hand over his face before sighing loudly. "I dunno, Sammy," he says. He wants Mari to play with other kids her age, but he gets nervous every time she has to be around other people.

"You could always come with," Sam says, repeating the invitation he'd given Dean earlier this week when he had first spoken to Dean about the Halloween party his neighbors were throwing for the local children.

"Nah, man," Dean says, hand coming to rest on his belly. "You know I hate those things. And I hate being around crowds of people, especially when I'm showing. Folks would start staring at me, whispering about how 'I've never seen one up close! Only on TV and in the movies!'"

Sam sighs, understanding crossing his face. "Yeah, you would stand out. Although I heard Woodhaven had a carrier couple living in town about five years ago."

Carriers, the name given to men who can conceive and bare children, are rare enough that they tend to stand out, especially in small towns. They also face a lot of discrimination across the country as well, a mix of bigoted and small-minded attitudes about gender roles, sexuality, and sexual orientation. Statistically, carriers are only about 30 percent of the male population, but even then, only a percentage of those are involved in the types of relationships that would lead to male conception: meaning, only about 15 percent of carriers identify as gay/bisexual, or as men who have sex with men (MSM). In bigger cities with liberal attitudes, carriers have been able to fight for a lot of anti-discrimination legislation, protection, and rights. But out here in the boonies, Dean is a walking signpost for deviant sexual behavior. 

He's used to it though. He had enough slurs thrown his way growing up on the road, from both straight men and gay men. He'd been a pretty boy raised in a militaristic, alpha-male subculture, where his dad and the men John surrounded himself with made it perfectly clear males should conform to traditional masculine traits and behaviors. Carriers were typically seen as passive and delicate in nature, often feminized in the mass media and pop culture, and considered 'less than' in comparison to non-carrier males. They weren't stripped of as many rights as women historically, of course, but they faced similar gendered discrimination when they were outed. 

Outing is rare, though. Carriers can often pass as non-carriers, since carriers and non-carriers share the same physical male features during much of their lives. It's only during certain times in a carrier's life cycle that the differences are noticeable -- during hormonal and developmental shifts at puberty and during pregnancy itself, when a carrier's body changes to accommodate childbirth. 

Growing up, the only people who'd known Dean was a carrier were Sam and John. But even then, Dean felt wrong, afraid of being outed, afraid he'd do something to let them down and bring attention to himself and his family. He had tried to fight the stereotypes, sleeping with as many girls as he could to prove that he was just like the non-carrier boys. He liked girls, no doubt about it, and he'd _loved_ the sex, but he always felt like he had to try twice as hard to prove it. Plus, he'd had to work overtime to avoid the guys who'd give him long, knowing looks in the bars and at the truck stops they'd frequented growing up. Too many times Dean had wanted to look back at some of them, but he didn't allow himself.

"So," Amelia says, breaking the sudden, and very awkward, silence that had descended in the room. 

Dean shakes his thoughts away and smiles over at Amelia. "Okay," he says, relenting. "She can go."

"Great," Amelia says, clapping her hands and turning to Mari. "Then how 'bout we go get you ready Mari? Wanna show us your costume?"

Mari looks up at her and nods excitedly, crawling down from Sam's lap and taking Amelia's hand and leading her upstairs to her bedroom. Dean watches them go, before turning back to Sam. "Let's sit outside for a minute man," he says, and Sam looks relieved by the invite.

It's just past dusk, and the crickets and cicadas are out in full force, their soft cacophony coming from the trees and bushes that surround the property. When Sam joins Dean outside, the porch groans under Sam's heady footsteps, wood creaking beneath the heavy soles of his boots. He settles beside Dean on the chairs on the porch. 

"How are you really?" Sam asks, crossing his arms over his chest and aiming one of his 'We need to talk' looks Dean's way.

Dean grunts, but says nothing, just slides deeper into his chair, propping his feet on the porch railing. 

"She'll be fine tonight, Dean," Sam says softly, words almost drowned out by the evening din of insects. "We'll watch her."

"She can be quiet, you know. Shy sometimes," Dean says, voice low. "Make sure they don't pick on her for it." He rubs a hand across his face, pushing his worries away as he turns to face his brother. "Okay?"

"Dude, of course," Sam says, voice soft and reassuring.

Dean looks down at his hands, and they're tanned, weathered, scarred from old hunts. But these days, they're mostly used for cooking meals and brushing Mari's soft hair at night. His hands have the combined history of both his father and his mother, and as Dean rubs them together, he feels a little more settled in his own skin. He looks back at his brother and says, "Cas couldn't make it in."

"Sorry, man," Sam says, shaking his head. "It must be crazy right now, with two of his lieutenants getting captured last week."

"Yeah," Dean says, exhaling a deep breath. "God, I worry about him."

"You need to stop stressing yourself out," Sam chides. "Jemma already warned you that you weren't doing yourself or the baby any favors."

Dean nods, settling his head back against his chair. "I know, man."

They're quiet together for a moment before Sam says, on a soft chuckle, "Man, I can't believe you got yourself knocked up again."

Dean snorts, shrugging. "Sometimes Cas and I get a little carried away and forget to use protection, you know. When he's home, it's not like we're thinking with our upstairs brains."

Sam shoots him a look. "Dude, too much information."

Dean rolls his eyes and continues with, "Plus, birth control isn't always full-proof, especially for carrier biology, you know that." He pauses, then adds, "And I have a feeling angel sperm are especially tricky little buggers."

"Gross, dude," Sam huffs out, looking affronted. 

"Hey, you brought it up," Dean says, cackling. "Plus this is what you get for always making fun of my man uterus, dude!"

Sam scowls and throws his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I spent years having to watch you and Cas give each other longing, lovesick looks, and then I spent months being unable to sleep in a motel room next to you two because it was 'the last night on Earth' every night for y'all for a while there. Hell, I wasn't even surprised when you told me you were expecting Mari."

Dean looks away, flushing, remembering those first few months after Lucifer was defeated. Dean had been at Lisa's for only a month when Cas had shown up one night at her doorstep in Cicero, Sam in tow. Apparently Cas had gone back to Hell to retrieve Sam, and Dean had been floored by it. Lisa had been great about it though, understanding what Dean needed and wanted and supporting his decision to head back on the road with Sam. He and Lisa had said their goodbyes, heartfelt and honest, and Ben had hugged him tight and begged him not to go. Dean had tried to be a good dad to Ben in the few weeks they'd had together, and it was hard walking away from the kid back then. He still has Anna checking in on Lisa and Ben from time to time, making sure they're safe and doing well. Lisa's married to a doctor named Matt, and Ben's in his senior year of high school, a track star with college recruiters eyeing him.

After leaving Cicero, Dean had hit the road with Sam and Cas, working together to figure out a way to defeat Raphael. He and Cas had confessed some stuff to each other in a moment of weakness one night after a tough and bloody hunt, and things between them had gotten pretty hot and heavy after that. They were a little wild on being alive and being reunited, and they hadn't been careful at all, and to be honest, Dean hadn't even thought it possible for an angel to knock up a human. Sure, he'd read the Bible, but _really_? _Giants_? 

But interspecies mating or not, a few months after hitting the road, Dean was expecting, and needless to say, his life would never be the same again. He doesn't regret it, could never regret loving Cas, or having Mari. But it's hard knowing his kid is some kind of cosmic target, some weapon that both sides of the war would use to their advantage if her existence was ever revealed to the wrong angels. It's as hard as knowing that Cas just might not make it home one day. 

Sam's watching him closely, and Dean forces out a smile and says, "I'm doing okay, Sammy."

Sam doesn't seem to believe it. "Dean, I know what you're sacrificing," his brother says. "I know you want to be out there fighting at Castiel's side. I get that."

"That's not it, Sam," Dean says quietly, voicing something he rarely allows himself to admit. "I just...all I want is him home. Screw this war, man. Fuck it. I just want my family together."

Sam looks sympathetic, big hand coming up to grip Dean's shoulder. "It's gonna happen one day, okay," he says softly. "For now, take care of this little fella." Sam motions toward Dean's distended belly.

"Danny," Dean whispers.

"What?" Sam asks, frowning.

"That's my kid's name apparently. _Daniel_. According to Mari. She started calling the baby that about two weeks ago. I figured it must be his name," Dean says, smiling wryly.

Sam opens his mouth and then closes it. Says after a moment, "That's really...weird? Sweet? Creepy?"

"Yeah, definitely, all of the above," Dean huffs a laugh. "Anna says it's because Mari's connected to the baby. They share the same parents, the same grace; they're a part of each other. There's probably some weird psychic angel mojo bond between nephilim siblings. Anna says although Danny's human side is still developing, his grace is already strong enough to connect with Mari's grace. So they're able to to communicate, grace to grace, or something."

Sam's grinning like this news is the best thing since Obama winning the presidency in '08. "Wow. Just...wow."

Dean laughs, ducking his head. "Yeah."

His brother's gaze turns thoughtful. "So you were going to name him Daniel?"

"It was on our list, so, yeah, I guess we are...or we did," Dean says with a shrug. "Or maybe the kid named himself? I'm not sure which came first. I think maybe he could sense my thoughts, and knew Daniel was the name I was leaning toward."

Sam scratches his chin, nodding. "Well, it's a strong name. Biblical."

Dean snorts. "Whatever. Cas suggested it, and it seemed a good combo of mine and Castiel's names, you know. Plus I'd already named my baby girl after my three favorite ladies. Mom, Ellen, and _you_ , Samantha."

Sam groans. "Shudup, jerk."

Dean laughs and runs his hand over his belly. "Daniel Jonathan Robert Winchester," he says quietly.

Sam smiles soft. "You know, I wish Dad would have had a chance to see his grandkids," he says.

Dean looks up in surprise. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam says, voice gone quiet. "I wish a lot of things when it comes to Dad."

"Yeah, me too," Dean says, nodding. "You know, Dad always hated that I was a carrier...probably thought it made me less of a man or something. Made me weak, not strong enough to protect you. I know I was never the man Dad wished I could be, but I'd like to think he would have been okay about me having kids."

"Dad was an idiot about a lot of things," Sam says, his words a soft growl in Dean's defense. "You being one. You are a better man than he ever was, Dean. And despite Dad's failings, and let me be the first to point to a list of them...he loved you, man. And he would have been proud to meet his grandkids. Proud one of 'em carries his name."

"Yeah," Dean says, nodding. "I think so too."

Sam's eyes turn soft, haunted. "And if Mom could have met Mari," he whispers, voice wistful.

Dean feels his heart ache, but nods. "I wish she could have met her, Sam. You know, Gwen showed me some pictures she got from her parents, and one of them was a Polaroid of her mom, Beth, and our Mom at a pool party. They couldn't have been that much older than Mari is now. And Mom looked so much like my baby girl."

"God," Sam whispers.

Dean sucks in a deep breath and continues, "It's weird knowing now that Mom wanted us to have a life as far away from hunting as possible. That she wanted to keep us safe from that world. Finding out that her worst nightmare was the way we actually lived our lives...it was hard to hear her say that, but I get it now, Sam," he says quietly, rubbing a hand across his face and exhaling. "I don't want my kids to live the way I did. I was never a kid. I was a soldier. I can't...do that to my kids. And I know we saved lives growing up, and we were good at it. I know what we did was, and is, important. People are dying out there. But I don't know how to be a hunter and be a good father too." 

"Dean," Sam whispers, voice cracking on his name, but they both are distracted by the sound of the screen door creaking open. They turn to see Amelia and Mari stepping out onto the porch. Dean rubs at his wet eyes and glances at his costume-clad baby girl, his mouth falling open. 

"Well, ain't you a little angel," Sam says, laughter in his voice.

"I'm going to kill Anna," Dean mutters, but Sam's knocking his shoulder against Dean's, most likely a silent plea for him to behave.

"Just go with it, man," Sam whispers. "Never claim Anna doesn't have a sense of humor."

Dean huffs and stands up, reaching out a hand for his daughter. "Come here, sweetheart, and let Papa get a good look at you."

Mari strolls over, hands held behind her back shyly. She's done up beautifully, hair twisted into golden spirals and a tiny white ruffled halo balanced on top of her head. She's wearing a soft white dress that flows down to her slippered feet, and the material is trimmed in golden decorative designs. On her back is a pair of white wings, made out of what Dean suspects is white pantyhose, and outlined in golden glitter.

"You look absolutely amazing, baby girl," Dean whispers, because she really does. Mari steps closer to him, and Dean pulls her into his arms for a big hug. "You gonna have fun tonight for Papa?"

Mari nods, arms curling tighter around him, and Dean can sense she's nervous about going out too. "Remember you always have your own very special angel watching over you," Dean whispers, pulling her closer.

"Daddy?" she whispers in his ear.

"Yeah, your daddy," Dean says, pressing a kiss against her forehead.

From behind him he hears Sam's voice, adding softly, "And your Aunt Anna, Uncle Balthazar, Aunt Rachel, Uncle Inias, and all those who follow your father's command."

Dean nods his agreement, squeezing Mari one more time before letting her go and standing up. He takes Mari's hand and walks down the steps with her, and soon they're all gathered in front of Sam's car.

"Take care of my kid, Sammy," Dean says, patting Sam's back and transferring Mari's small hand to Sam's large paw.

"Take care of my nephew," Sam retorts, smirking at Dean's belly.

Dean grumbles, but nods, turning to track the trio as they climb into the car, that damn dog sauntering after them. Dean watches Sam buckle Mari into the booster seat he had installed in the backseat of the SUV just for her. And then they're off.

Once the car's cleared the drive, Dean turns and heads back inside the house, locking the front door after him. He's contemplating a cup of hot cocoa, a heating pad, and a _Star Trek_ marathon, when he pauses at the doorway to the kitchen, stilled by the all-too-familiar sound of fluttering feathers.

Dean flicks on the kitchen light, the bright yellow glow spilling across the cool granite counters and the stainless steel appliances. His mouth drops open for a moment when he takes in the figure standing there, and then he hisses out, "Jesus, you ever heard of knocking?!"

Castiel stands rigid and tall in the middle of the kitchen, his hair windblown and tie crooked, eyeing Dean solemnly. "Hello, Dean," he says quietly, their cat, Colt, wrapping itself around Castiel's legs, sniffing at its favorite human, er, angel.

Dean huffs out a tired laugh, shaking his head. "Hey there, Cas," he whispers. "Welcome home, buddy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Note:** Mari's costume looks something like **[this](http://i50.tinypic.com/2vbpvzk.jpg)**.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know you’ve been through a hell of a lot already,” she says. “But raising these kids…it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do. But you’ll do it well and you’ll do it right. You wouldn’t be Dean Winchester if you didn’t.”
> 
> A canon-based Dean/Castiel domestic!fic. This is a work-in-progress being penned for November's Nanowrimo challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the unexpected wait! Fluff and porn ahead!

**three**

Sometimes it's hard for Dean to tell dream from reality, nights when he's lost in foggy half-memories and never-spoken-aloud fantasies. But right now he's pretty sure the angel standing in the middle of his kitchen is no dream, but actually his life partner (is that the term for it these days?) and the father of his child(ren).

Castiel is watching him, and Dean's watching him right back, and really Dean's kind of missed this whole locking eyes across a room, time and space narrowing down to just them thing.

Dean is the one to step forward first, breaking the spell, reaching out and pulling Castiel into a hug that takes the angel only a moment to melt into. Dean grips him tight, feeling the lean muscles hiding under his baggy trenchcoat, his nose sliding against the side of Castiel's neck. Dean can feel the warmth coming off of Castiel's body, the soft buzz of other-worldly energy that always seems to cling to him. Cas smells like a mix of sugar and exotic spices, or more like a deep forest night after a rainstorm.

"Been everywhere in the world today, I take it?" Dean whispers against the scruff on his chin.

Castiel nods, drawing back to look at Dean as he says, "I've been everywhere." He glances down, eyes widening comically as he takes in Dean's belly, hanging full and low between them.

"Yeah," Dean says, reading Castiel's startled expression. "I'm starting to really show now that I'm in my second trimester," he explains quietly as Cas reaches out a tentative hand. The angel seems to change his mind mid-way though, pulling it back. 

"Hey, none of that," Dean says, reaching out and grabbing Castiel's hand himself and twining their fingers together. He settles Castiel's palm over the rounded curve of his mid-section.

"Cas, say hi to your son Daniel," Dean says, lips quirking. "He's missed you."

"Hello, Daniel," Castiel says, his voice a soft rasp as he presses his hand more firmly against Dean's belly, eyes softening. "I have felt your grace reaching out to mine all these long weeks."

Dean swallows, hand tightening on top of Castiel's own. "It's good to see you, man," he says quietly, and Castiel's eyes rise to meet his again, their gazes locking for a long, tenuous moment. 

Cas doesn't say anything, but he's looking at Dean with that _look_ of his, the one that makes Dean think the angel's trying to see past the skin of him, beneath the layers of muscle and bone, deep into the spaces of Dean's very being. Like maybe Cas is relearning the hidden depths of Dean, wanting to repossess the secrets of his heart.

Something crazy like that.

"It is good to see you too, Dean," Castiel says after a time, pulling his hand away and stepping back, back straightening, military style.

Dean's finally able to suck in a breath, nodding. Okay, they can do this. Maybe. "I take it Anna passed you my message," he says quietly.

"Yes," Cas acknowledges.

"What did she say exactly?" Dean asks, watching him curiously.

Cas drops his eyes, lips thinning. He fingers the lapels of his coat and says, "She was quite angry with me for not coming today."

"She wasn't the only one," Dean says, moving past Castiel and heading for the kitchen sink. "I'm really kind of pissed at you right now, man," he adds quietly, and then takes a moment to fill a tea kettle with water before placing it on the stove. He concentrates on the clicking sound of the gas burner as he turns the knob and sends the water boiling.

"Dean," Castiel says softly from behind him. "I'm sorry."

Dean doesn't turn around to look at him. But he can feel Castiel's presence like a punch to the solar plexus. The sheer weight of him, the electric-storm scent of him, the way he fills up the space of the kitchen with the entirety of his being. The way he makes Dean ache, a wave of want pulsing under his skin, thrumming until he's dizzy with it. _Goddamn sonofabitch._

"Four weeks, Cas," Dean grits out lowly, eyes locked on the heating kettle to keep from turning around. "And don't give me that crap about time passing differently when you're being all badass multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent or whatever, because I swear to God—"

"I wish for us not to fight," Castiel interrupts, exhaling tiredly. The rustle of his trenchcoat is soft as he shifts forward.

"You wish..." Dean starts, but then he shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut, and swallows so hard his throat hurts. 

"Dean," Castiel breathes out, and Dean's not expecting it, but he doesn't fight it when Castiel steps up behind him and draws Dean back against his chest. Cas rests his hands, light and uncertain, on Dean's hips for a moment before sliding his arms fully around Dean's waist from behind, his chest pressing against the span of Dean's shoulders. When Dean doesn't pull away, both of Castiel's hands come up to rest atop Dean's belly. Dean exhales, tension falling out of his shoulders, and he settles back into the embrace, leaning his head against Castiel's shoulder as Castiel presses dry lips along Dean's neck.

"I wish for us not to fight," Castiel repeats his words on a soft whisper, warm breath falling along Dean's ear.

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Dean agrees on a soft growl, letting Cas cradle him from behind. "I'm still kicking your ass later though," he adds for good measure.

Castiel snorts, and Dean can feel the puff of moist breath sliding against his cheek. "Is that before or after the reunion sex?"

"Hate you," Dean mutters, rolling his eyes and grunting a stubborn, "No sex for you."

"I beg to differ," Castiel says with an amused huff of breath. 

Dean humphs and sinks back into the familiar press of Castiel's chest. This close, Dean can better feel the warmth radiating off of the angel's skin, spilling out through the cotton of his shirt and the rough texture of his trenchcoat. So much warmth, like the angel's energy can barely stand to be contained in his remade vessel, especially after weeks of fighting, flying, pushing his grace to the max, a ball of energy pummeling through the stratosphere. 

But now Cas has finally stopped moving, gone still; he's a powerful force at rest. Dean lets his eyes fall closed, and Castiel rests his chin on Dean's shoulder. Dean wants to say, _I'm sorry for being mad. We've missed you, Cas. I hate this war. I hate that you're gone all the friggin' time._ But he doesn't say anything; he just lets himself lean into Cas for the much-needed support, his arms and hands sliding over Castiel's where they rest around his hips and protruding belly.

Of course, Dean thinks, sighing to himself. He'd fall for some badass warrior of God who's commanding a rebel angel army in Heaven. Of course he'd get himself knocked up by said badass warrior angel, not once, but _twice_. Of course. Typical. 

Dean's life is crazier than a friggin' Spanish telenovela.

Dean sighs again, and he feels the flutter of Castiel's heartbeat against his back. He thinks about tomorrow, having his family under one roof, safe. For a time. If this is as good as it gets these days, Dean's milking it for all its worth.

Cas pulls him tight, and Dean leans back against him, and they stand like that in the kitchen for almost an hour. The quiet settles heavy between them, like a silent peace agreement.

* 

Around midnight, they're necking on the bed like two horny teenagers, the opening music to _Star Trek_ playing on a loop from the DVD player in the background like some kind of nerdy romantic soundtrack.

Castiel's lips ghost across Dean's cheek, teeth grazing, and Dean sucks in a shattered breath, shivering. "Cas," he whispers, and Castiel responds with seeking hands and warm lips and soft whispers of _I've missed you so_ , and Dean feels like he's being completely turned inside out because _Jesus Christ_ , it's been too fucking long.

Cas is rolling on top of him and whispering something filthy sweet (or maybe it's just Enochian slang) in his ear when the baby kicks, and they both pause mid-kiss, turning to look at Dean's abdomen. 

"Bad timing, kiddo," Dean huffs, dropping his head back into his pillow as Cas climbs off of him, curling against Dean's side.

"He...our son...he moved," Castiel whispers, always master of the obvious. The angel's expression is one of astonishment. Dean raises his head so that he can see Cas better, a smile crossing his own face. 

Cas looks over at him, and Dean pushes up, props up on his elbows, and says, "He does that sometimes, you know."

"I feel I've missed a great deal," Cas says, the wounded curl of his voice making Dean's breath catch.

"But you're here now," Dean offers, voice low.

"For only a short time," Cas says, voice rolling like water over rocks. 

The moment draws out long and painful, their eyes locked on each other. Then Dean leans closer to Cas, raising his hand and carding his fingers through the tufts of hair at the base of Castiel's skull, scratching his scalp softly. "Cas, we don't have to talk about this now."

Castiel slides his hands under the hem of Dean's t-shirt, hand circling the swell of Dean's belly, and his movements are slow and reverent, like he's touching something precious, before he settles his hand protectively below the navel. "I would give anything..." he stops, words trailing off. 

Dean's eyes flick up to him, trying to read the emotions shuffling across Castiel's usually stoic features. "Talk to me," he says softly.

Castiel's eyes turn to him, and they're dark and unguarded as he whispers, "We're losing the war, Dean." His hand curls where it's pressed against the skin of Dean's belly. "I've lost four garrisons under my command in skirmishes this month alone."

"Shit, Cas," Dean says on a rough whisper. It's not fair. But when have their lives ever been fair? It's one war and then another, it's constant loss, and Dean's sick and tired of losing his family to this madness. The baby kicks again, and Dean shakes himself out of dark thoughts, settling his hand over Castiel's hand on his belly.

"I think Danny's feeling the stress," Dean says quietly.

"Then we should speak of other things," Castiel says, hand brushing protectively over the curve of Dean's stomach again. 

Dean leans closer and reaches out to touch Castiel's face. "Okay," he says. "But no matter what, we're in this together, okay? We'll figure this out."

Solemn-eyed, Castiel nods but doesn't say anything more; he simply leans in and joins their mouths in a deep kiss, which Dean sinks into, their tongues moving against each other in a familiar tangle. Castiel's taste is intoxicating, heady, and Dean knows there's a shit-load of stuff they need to say to each other, and there's a war raging somewhere outside their windows, but Cas is going to be here _for only a short time_ , and he hasn't touched him like this in weeks. Castiel's hands are shaking as they move up and down Dean's arms, working Dean out of his t-shirt and then claiming his mouth again and again, worshiping his lips with teeth and tongue. 

Most of the time their reunion sex is fevered and rushed, heated grappling in the moments they can get it, trying to fit as much in as they can in the shortest period of time, before Mari came rushing in or Cas got called away unexpectedly. But this time, Cas is moving slow, like they have all the time in the world. It's another few minutes before Dean finds himself completely naked and spread out under Castiel's (only partially naked) lowering body. Castiel flushes their lines together as his long limbs tangle with Dean's own, the smooth pressure of his hands moving up Dean's thighs, his lean muscle and soft, quiet heat pressing down as they grind, cock to cock, face to face, eyes locked on each other. 

There's not much sound between them, just soft pants and the whisper of sweat-slick skin meeting as they move together, slow and gentle, Castiel's mouth sliding down the valleys of Dean's throat to the peaks of his shoulders. Dean finds himself drowning in that soul-deep ache and longing that's been moving through him for weeks now. Dean says Castiel's name, breathless, spreading his legs wider to accommodate Cas between them. 

Castiel's stubble burns against Dean's lips as his mouth travels the line of Dean's neck. "I've missed this," the angel hotly whispers against Dean's ear, sending shivers from Dean's head to his toes. 

"Maybe Rachel should let you come down for booty calls more often," Dean mumbles, hands digging into the muscles of Castiel's back. 

"Not likely. She thinks you're a distraction for me," Castiel whispers against his neck, almost too soft for him to hear. "Rightfully so. After a a battle, I often find myself distracted by thoughts of you, imagining being inside of you, touching you like this," he says, his long, elegant fingers finding Dean's cock and wrapping around the swelling flesh. "Loving you like this."

Dean shudders under the force of Castiel's words. His dick grows in the angel's hand, hot with blood and need. "Fuck, Cas," Dean says, voice cracking. And then he adds, quieter still, a confession only for the dark, "I love you, you sonofabitch. God, you drive me so crazy, and I'm so damn mad at you, but I love you."

"Dean," Castiel whispers, and the sound of his name in the angel's mouth feels like a promise, sitting heavy against Dean's ratcheting heart. 

Castiel takes his time then, licking and sucking his way down Dean's chest, rough lips smoothing across his abdomen and hips. He bites bruises into the skin over Dean's hipbones, palms curving around the curve of Dean's belly. Dean's so hard he's going to explode. He grips Castiel's shoulders, bringing him up and forward, twisting his own hips for leverage, and pulling Castiel further between his legs. 

The weight of Castiel's body pressing Dean into the bed is fucking amazing, makes him want, ache for it, burning with every brush of Castiel's body against his own. When he feels soft fingertips sliding over his stomach, heat pools in Dean's groin, his breath hitching as Castiel's palm presses along that softer skin of his belly. Castiel's hands are hot but tender as they slide slowly downward, _down and down_ , moving between Dean's legs, tracing along the sensitive skin of Dean's inner thigh. Dean wants Castiel's fingers, all of them; he wants Castiel's blood-thick cock inside of him. He wants to be fucked so badly he can barely breathe through his need, his blood boiling hot and thick in his veins. 

"Dean," Castiel says against Dean's neck, voice smoky and low. His stubble burns and his lips tickle against Dean's chin, and Dean widens his legs, hoping Cas will take the hint, fuck him slow and deep and forever. 

Castiel pulls back, and his eyes are on Dean's face, soft and intense, reverent. He leans closer and slides his fingers across Dean's mouth. Dean opens his mouth, sucks in two of Castiel's fingers, and moans at the feel of their rough texture against his tongue. Castiel's pushes them deeper, rolling them against Dean's cheek. Dean licks over the pads, suckles one finger and then another. Cas kisses him then, slipping over Dean's lips, fingers and tongue twisting inside Dean's mouth at the same time. Strings of saliva dangle between their lips as Cas pulls away. 

"Damn, Cas," Dean whispers, licking his swollen lips.

Fingers removed, Castiel replaces them with just his tongue, fucking Dean's mouth, slow and steady, as his spit-wet fingers find their true mark. Dean bucks up when Castiel's hand ghosts gently along the crease of his thigh, fingers slipping down behind his balls, and skating over his hole. He gasps and says Castiel's name again on a desperate whine when he feels the angel slide two fingers in. Everything else melts away then, the world narrowing down to the feeling of being filled, the feeling of connecting to this man, this _angel_ , Dean's spent years loving in ways he never thought he could love anyone or anything again.

"God, Cas, please, I need—" Dean pants, his words stripped bare and all-too vulnerable as he pushes his hips forward, craving more, the soft ache and burn still not enough.

Cas answers with the soft press of lips against Dean's throat and a whispered, "You have no idea what you do to me."

Dean thinks he knows though, because it's the same thing Cas does to him. Every part of his body is straining for Castiel, seeking his touch, sparking with pleasure whenever they do touch. It's heaven, or what Heaven should be, Dean thinks, the feel of Castiel moving inside of him, the ache and pain of finding home, the glorious stretch and the lingering warmth left in Dean's belly. Dean lets Cas see the things he never lets anyone see, how much he needs this, loves this, loves _him_. There's something here between them that Dean doesn't speak aloud: there's trust and love and history and heartache. There's friendship turned into something more, and it's overwhelming and too damn much, but never enough. 

It's them.

Castiel wraps his hands around Dean's thighs, palms caressing as he pulls them apart. He bends low, head deep between Dean's legs, and Dean closes his eyes, heart thundering in his chest, because he knows what's coming before he ever feels it. The smooth, warm press of Castiel's lips against his hole, the slick and gentle probing of his ridiculously long and fucking amazing tongue, which along with his fingers, slowly opens him up, easing the way for his cock. Warm hands spreading under his asscheeks, Castiel angles Dean up, and his tongue licks over Dean's hole until Dean's left keening, breathless, begging for it. He wants to push down, fuck himself on Castiel's tongue, but he holds himself still, hands wrapping tight firsts around the bedsheets.

_Sonofabitch_.

Castiel loves this part, Dean knows, loves working him open with spit and a thrusting tongue, and Dean howls for it, his hips bucking, legs shaking; the fierce intimacy is always his undoing. Too soon though, Cas pulls back, his lips pink and wet, his eyes dark with lust. He takes a moment to gather the bottle of oil they always use for lube from the bedside table, some kind of weird natural herbal concoction Cas found in his travels; it smells sweet and pungent, but it's smooth as butter, warming better than any store-brought K-Y jelly Dean's ever used.

Castiel gently lifts Dean's cock and balls. Fingers covered in oil, he slides one inside of Dean, and then he pushes up and crooks it perfectly. 

"Oh, fuck you," Dean breathes out, and Cas is watching him intently as he wraps his hand around the base of Dean's dick, pulling the delicate, satiny skin taut as he strokes him. The angel presses another finger inside of Dean, and Dean opens his mouth like he's trying to learn to primal scream, but no sound comes out. He arches his back, mind going blank at the pure feel of Castiel's fingers working him open.

Dean inhales deeply as Cas keeps teasing the tight muscle of his hole, rubbing at it just a little before working more slick inside with soft, caressing pushes of his fingers. Soon Dean is stretched around three of Castiel's fingers, panting as the angel crooks and twists with skilled stroke after stroke. "God, fuck, Cas," Dean says, voice cracked and breaking further. " _Get in me now._ "

Castiel has the nerve to smile, the bastard, but then he's pulling out and peeling off his shirt and tie, and Dean's able to drink in the sight of his best friend's completely naked body for the first time in friggin' weeks. Lean shoulders and a softly muscled abdomen taper into slim hips and strong runner's thighs; his cock is thick and fat and curving upward, flushed red against a dark bed of curls.

Dean spreads his legs, and Cas claims the space between them again. The angel is all tensing muscle and heated skin, power rolling off his body with something fierce and primal. His muscles shift as he crawls up Dean's body, settling close, his eyes blown black with arousal. Dean watches Castiel's face as he guides himself to Dean's hole, and Dean's entire body is quaking in anticipation. Strong hands wrap around the slope of Dean's hipbones, steadying him. Then Cas is pushing inside of him, past the resistance of clenching muscle, moving hard and fast and deep, just the way Dean's always liked it. Dean bucks up and begins rolling his hips as Cas sinks in deeper, fits them together. The stretch and sensation of being filled settles into Dean's soul like a familiar touch. He gasps at the perfect feel of Cas inside of him.

"Cas," Dean breathes out, mumbling words that are a mix of _Oh, God_ , and _So fucking good_ , and _Cas, please Cas_. There's so much need inside of him, Dean feels like he's choking on it, but Cas is there, answering it, slamming into him with every breath he expels, his balls slapping loud against Dean's ass.

"Dean," Castiel chokes out, drawing out slowly, and then pushing in hard and fast again, his cock creating a fevered drag and stab against Dean's prostate, sending a hot sliver of pleasure spiking through him. 

Dean opens his eyes long enough to glimpse Castiel in the act, the ever-cool, calm, and collected angel, slowly breaking apart inside of Dean's body. He moves like a machine at first, all tight muscle and pent-up energy, his body aligning to every curve and sweep of Dean's own, his cock buried as deep inside as possible with every thrust. Slowly, but surely, he's shattering, his movements losing their control and precision, and Dean knows they're both so fucking close, can feel it in the way his own muscles clench and squeeze around Castiel's pounding dick. 

It's endless, though. Dean's body is thrumming like a live wire, rising up to meet Castiel's thrusts, legs wrapping around Castiel's hips, and Dean's whispering _love you, love you, love you_ , matching Castiel's every pound inside. Dean reaches up to clutch at Castiel's backside, the tips of his fingers digging into Castiel's sweat-slick behind as the angel strains and bucks against him, faster and harder, fucking across the divide of weeks. 

Castiel sinks in to the hilt one last time, holding himself there inside of Dean for one long, torturous, amazing moment. Dean holds his breath and listens as Castiel whispers, "I love you too." Dean shouts as Castiel's cock fills inside of his body, and then the angel shudders and arches up, flooding Dean's ass with warm, thick come. 

Dean follows on a heartbeat, coming untouched, jackknifing forward in Castiel's arms, the tight ring of his muscles contracting around Cas length, his whole body quaking. A warmth spreads between them as Dean shoots hot jets of come onto Castiel's belly. He bites his tongue to keep from screaming out again, clenches around Castiel deep in his body, and shakes until his muscles go weak. He's shivering now, breathing in shallow pants, and Castiel's softening cock and his sack nestle between Dean's legs like they belong there. 

When Dean was pregnant with Mari, he and Cas had barely ever had sex, too worried that their strenuous activities would hurt the baby. But both Doc Benson and Jemma had assured them multiple times that it's okay for them to be together like this, and it could actually help induce labor naturally when Dean's closer to his due date, something about Castiel's ejaculate and the motion of sex stimulating something or another, but Dean's so not thinking about that now, not with the hot, wet, full sensation of Castiel's release still pulsing through him. The angel pulls out a bit, dragging the wet tip of his dick around the rim of Dean's tender hole, and Dean moans as Cas slides back inside, already hard again. Freaky angel stamina.

Castiel's breath comes fast in Dean's ear as he presses his face against Dean's neck, and then Dean kisses Castiel, dizzy and reckless and needy, kisses Cas until he feels like he's losing track of whose breath is whose, who's body belongs to whom. Dean cradles Castiel's face between his hands, his thumbs pressing gently into the soft ridge of his cheekbones, and without a word, they watch each other for a ridiculously long time, eyes mapping over tired faces, before Cas leans in and kisses him again, sucking at Dean's mouth like he would die if he let go.

Castiel is the first to pull out of the kiss, pulling completely out of Dean's body, leaving Dean feeling soft and aching in his absence. Castiel's body is a heavy weight on top of him, tipped to the side just enough to keep from crushing Dean's baby bump. Dean closes his eyes when Castiel strokes long fingers through his hair, brushing his face and neck gently. Dean smiles, his eyelids heavy from pleasure and exhaustion. 

"Are you alright?" Castiel breaths, voice sounding content, but tired. 

"Fucking great," Dean hums, pushing his face into Castiel's neck and running his fingers across Castiel's slick back. "You'll still be here in the morning, right?" he adds, hating the way his voice pulls and shakes with the question.

"I'll be here," Castiel promises softly, and hearing that, Dean smiles again and feels himself relaxing, turning on his side while Cas spoons up from behind him. Melting into the curve of Castiel's body for the second time in weeks, Dean feels relaxed and pliant. He hadn't realized just how exhausted he'd been, stressing over the innumerable things that could fall apart at any moment.

But right now, with Cas, Dean doesn't mind falling apart a little himself. Here in the dark, naked, bare, and without shame. Cas is the one that built him up so many years ago, laid skin over muscle over bone over soul, and he's been doing that in so many other ways ever since. Dean likes to think that they've been doing that for each other. Truth is, this is one of the only places they can _both_ fall apart, let go of – for a time – the heavy burdens they each carry. They can shed the uniforms of solider, leader, savior. In the insular space of their bedroom, with a touch or a whispered word in the darkness, they can break apart, break down, wrapped in each other's arms. They can find safety. 

Minutes pass in silence. When they move toward the center of the bed, Dean tucks his back against Castiel's chest. He falls asleep to the steady sound of Castiel's breathing, the angel's palm warm where it settles protectively over Dean's growing belly.

Even after they both fall asleep, Dean knows that Castiel will hold on.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know you’ve been through a hell of a lot already,” she says. “But raising these kids…it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do. But you’ll do it well and you’ll do it right. You wouldn’t be Dean Winchester if you didn’t.”
> 
> A canon-based Dean/Castiel domestic!fic. This is a work-in-progress being penned for November's Nanowrimo challenge.

**four**

Dean wakes up to a kiss. 

Truth be told, it's probably one of his favorite ways to start the day, the rough slide of seeking lips against his lips and neck and chin, the puff of warm breath trailing along his collarbone. It used to be, with past partners, Dean was never one to stay the entire night, making his escape after the act, not wanting to see the looks of disappointment, regret, or anything even remotely similar on the faces of the people he shared a bed with for the night. 

Dean was a love 'em and leave him kind of guy, if only to head-off having to watch the other person leave him first. Look, Dean knows he was never the kind of person people wanted to stick around for, and he dealt with it in the best way he knew how. But as a result, Dean's known early mornings only with a few people in his life – John and Sammy growing up. Cassie, Lisa. This guy Greg from Austin, Texas. Maybe that's why it still feels strange now with Cas; strange but not at all unwelcome. 

Dean turns, eyes still closed, into the warm spot of the bed Castiel still occupies. He shifts closer, drawing them into a slow scratchy meeting of lips, stubble on stubble. When Cas starts to pull back, probably afraid of squishing Dean's belly, Dean reaches out to pull him closer again. Cas takes the hint: the angel kisses Dean's cheek and then his mouth, one hand already questing down Dean's chest and over his belly, where he splays a broad palm across the swell of it.

Dean cracks his eyes open, mouth quirking up into a half-smile, and croaks out, "You're still here, dude."

Castiel blinks down at him and licks his already-wet lips. His hair is wild, unruly, a thick black nest poking out in all different directions, lit up by the pale morning light. "I am."

Dean groans, stretching under the blankets, muscles sore, but body feeling lazy and content. "G'mornin' Cas," he says in a soft-sleepy rumble.

"Good morning, Dean," Castiel replies with a small smile, expression wry.

Dean reaches out and brushes his hand through Castiel's hair, trying to pat it into place, and failing that, he cups Castiel's cheek. "Did you get any rest?" he asks.

Castiel leans down and draws Dean into another gentle kiss, just lips skimming lips, a feather light touch. "Some," he whispers against Dean's mouth. 

Castiel doesn't _need_ to sleep of course, but he does sometimes when he's with Dean, rejuvenating his grace or something weird like that. Sometimes he meditates too, settles into a deep sleep-like trance where he's connecting with the Host, listening in and communicating via some funky angel telepathy. But Dean doesn't like the latter as much; it still feels like Cas is _working_ , still fighting this crazy, never-ending cosmic war, even when he's curled up beside Dean in their bed. It's weird to have him so close, but still so far, and understanding Dean's discomfort, Cas had taken to sitting outside if he needs to go into one of his long meditations. 

"Are you sure that you're feeling alright?" Castiel asks, breaking Dean out of his thoughts. 

"No morning sickness, so my day is already ten times better than usual," Dean laughs softly. He runs a hand against the stubble burn at the corner of his lips, smiling as he adds, "Plus last night was friggin' _good_."

Cas just looks at him again, eyes very blue and very deep, managing to get under Dean's skin with the crazy sort of ease that Dean has long gotten used to. After a while Cas releases Dean's gaze, and curves his hand gently against the soft bulge of Dean's mid-section. They both feel it then: the soft flutter of Danny's early-morning wrestling match. _Goddamn_ , but his kid is going to kick some serious ass when he's older, Dean thinks. Then again, the kid has _badass_ written in his genes. Winchester, Campbell, _and_ Angel of the Lord.

Castiel's looking down at Dean's belly with that same look he had last night, a mix of consternation and panicky-awe, but then his eyes cloud over, and he starts to remove his hand.

"Hey now," Dean says, and before Cas can completely remove his hand, Dean grabs it and holds it in place over his belly. "You're free to say hello anytime, Cas. This little guy is one half you as well as one half me. He's yours, man. He's _ours_."

Castiel eyes Dean for a brief moment before relaxing his hand across Dean's belly, sighing as he feels the baby move underneath Dean's skin again. "I still find that I'm adjusting to his existence," he admits softly.

Dean's smile grows a little at Castiel's confession. "But this isn't so bad, now is it?" he asks.

Castiel glances away from Dean's belly and catches Dean's eyes again. "Not bad at all," he whispers quietly.

"Our kid is going to love you, dude," Dean says, because he knows deep down Cas is probably as worried as he is about being a good enough dad to their kids. 

Castiel doesn't say anything, but he leans closer and slides his head down to burrow his nose into the curve of Dean's neck, to kiss the vulnerable skin there. Cas is warm and solid against him, and Dean yawns and stretches the rest of his body out in a long, lazy line against Castiel's. He rests his head against Castiel's chest as they wrap around each other. He thinks they'll probably stay like this all day, unless Sam comes back early with Mari. Cas woke Dean up late last night after round two (or was it three?), and they both had a chance to check in with Sam and Amelia. According to Sam, the party was a roaring success, Mari an angelic hit, her good looks (inherited from her daddies of course) having secured her three bags of candy. _That's my kid_ , Dean had laughed, while Cas had frowned, mumbling something about Gabriel and angelic predilections to sugar addiction.

Dean smiles at the memory, feeling the faint brush of Castiel's fingers as they slide along the back of his neck. "Where are you going after you leave here?" he whispers the muffled words against Castiel's chest. The familiar solidity of Castiel's body wrapped in his arms is a comfort, something he's waited weeks for. He's in no hurry to lose it.

Cas scritch-scratches his fingers through the hair at the nape of Dean's neck, and Dean continues to hum contentedly. Castiel's voice is low as he answers, "Budapest to meet with Tamiel, my third lieutenant. She is stationed east of the Transdanubian Mountains."

Dean huffs out a laugh because he has no idea where half of the places Castiel mentions actually are. Last spring, he brought a huge wall map of the world, which he placed on the back wall of the library. He and Sam had started to insert blue thumbtacks at every location on the globe where Cas won a battle against Raphael. The thumbtacks number in the hundreds and spread across every continent. Looking at it gives Dean hope that maybe, just maybe, they have a fighting chance at winning this thing. 

"So how much time do we have then?" Dean asks, turning his face up so that he can meet Castiel's eyes.

Castiel says, voice rough, "Not enough."

Then Cas is untangling them, and Dean's about to protest the loss of warmth until he realizes that Cas is climbing on top of him, situating himself between Dean's spreading legs in a way that allows him greater access to Dean's body. 

Castiel rests his hands on Dean's parted thighs and says, "But it's enough time for me to learn you again, to memorize you this way." 

Dean meets Castiel's gaze and says, voice gruff, "Ain't nothing much to see here, buddy."

"I beg to differ," Castiel says as he leans in and presses his lips over Dean's in a soft kiss. "You're beautiful like this," Castiel breathes against Dean's mouth, before moving his lips down Dean's chin, trailing them along Dean's neck.

"Shudup," Dean huffs, shuddering as Cas presses closer, nipping gently at Dean's throat as his fingers skid along the crease of Dean's thigh. 

Cas lowers his head, moving lower and nibbling at Dean's (awesomely perky) nipples, and Dean's head rolls back bonelessly against the pillow as the angel licks and tastes his way further down his body. Everything feels both familiar and new, the heat pulsing under his skin threatening to spill out in waves. Dean feels on the verge of passing out as Cas continues downward, chasing the line of Dean's ever-expanding body. 

"I've seen so many things in my Father's vast creation," Castiel says, words whispered into the dip between Dean's ribcage. "But the most beautiful thing I've ever seen is you pregnant with my child."

"You're a real fuckin' sweet-talker, Cas," Dean gasps, trying his best not to blush but failing terribly. His eyes flutter closed, face heating further as Cas mouths across the small hill of Dean's distended abdomen, hands wrapping around both sides of Dean's belly. _Jesus fucking Christ_. Even the soft flutter of movement inside his stomach doesn't distract Dean from the sensation of Castiel's soft lips sliding across his belly, the feel of his skilled hands following behind.

Fingers spread wide, Cas flattens his palms around Dean's belly and takes his time kissing the swollen flesh, watching as Dean arches under him. Dean's holding on, holding his breath, hands coming up to dig into Castiel's neck and shoulders as Cas works his way down.

Dean feels weightless. Heat floods his heart, pools in his groin, and his vision blurs as Cas presses himself down further, sliding his tongue in and out of Dean's bellybutton. Dean makes a sound he doesn't recognize, somewhere between a moan and gusty croak as Castiel's hands smooth up and over the swell of Dean's belly again, a gentle circling of fingers that sends a spark of heat along Dean's spine.

Dean groans as one of Castiel's hands moves lower, settling between his thighs. The angel pushes two fingers inside of Dean and wraps his mouth around Dean's cock in one quick, simultaneous motion. Dean doesn't have time to even breath at the incredible combination of sensations. The bed rocks as he thrusts up, one, twice, three times, lost to the feel of Castiel's hot, wet mouth and probing fingers. Cas releases him with a pop, pulls his fingers free and grips Dean's dick in one go, jerking up and down the shaft in long, sure strokes. Too soon, too fast, Dean's entire body arches up, colors shooting behind his tightly-closed lids as he spasms, his muscles clenching down hard around Castiel's fingers. Ropes of Dean's come spill across Castiel's fist, and Dean's breath singes the air as it burns out of his throat.

"Cas," Dean gasps out, reaching up to clutch at the angel's upper arms.

Cas leans forward, curling over Dean, and rests his forehead against Dean's own. For a long minute they breathe in sync. But Dean's not one to leave his best friend hanging. "Get on your back, Cas," he says hoarsely, his entire body still sparking in post-orgasmic bliss. "Need to return the favor."

"You should rest for a while first," Castiel argues, eyes still dark enough to give the night sky a run for its money.

Dean snorts, easing his hands down Castiel's hips, trailing his palms over the taut globes of his ass, letting his fingers dip into the silk-soft crease between Castiel's asscheeks. "Really?" he whispers, voice low and suggestive.

Cas takes in a shaky breath and exhales, hands tightening where they're gripping Dean's arms. "Really," he says.

Dean rolls his eyes. "You've been fighting a war, turning into some glowing superman every day for months. It's my mission this week to see that you get as much sex as you can get."

Castiel actually laughs, shaking his head. "Your priorities are deeply concerning."

"We've got a lot of catching up to do, man," Dean says, laughing softly himself. "And s'not like I can get knocked up again anyhow."

Castiel arches a brow, mouth quirking. "You sure about that?"

Dean sticks out his tongue, and Cas reaches down to catch it with his own mouth. The angel sucks on Dean's tongue like he's on a mission of his own, and they kiss, sloppy and wet, for a long, hot moment. Dean mumbles in-between slips of tongue and the press of lips, "Angel sperm ain't that powerful, man."

"Mmm, maybe not," Cas says, pulling back, his blown-out eyes heavy and dark in his face. "But you love mine regardless."

"Fuck yeah, I do," Dean says, and at that Cas is moving again, slithering up Dean's entire body, curling over him and settling his knees above Dean's shoulders. Cas stretches his arms out until his palms are pressed against the headboard, holding on for balance. 

Castiel is now situated directly above Dean's face, and Dean swallows, heart skipping a beat or two as he looks up to see that lanky, powerful body arched perfectly over him. Dean gazes up at the miles of hot, naked skin, and the long, line of Castiel's torso. Dean's eyes run over the expanse of familiar dips and curves, Castiel's skin flushed and pale in the morning light. He takes in his strong thighs and lean muscles, the sculpted shape of his hips. And damn, the proud jut of his blood-heavy cock, bobbing just an inch away from Dean's mouth. Dean groans, licking his lips, wanting to taste. Cas tenses, as if waiting for the same thing, his chest rising and falling with hitching breaths. 

For a long moment, Dean eyes Castiel's cock, which is thick and hard and heavy and possibly the best damn thing he's seen in weeks. Or ever. He grips Castiel's hips and blows a soft puff of breath against the mushroom-shaped head, and above him, Castiel's body quakes softly, his face scrunching up as if in pain.

"Dean," Cas growls, voice gone rougher and deeper. He rises even more over Dean, the rolling muscles of his body barely masking the strength and power beneath his skin.

Dean smiles at the display, his fingers curling into the raised ridges of Castiel's hipbone. "Did you miss me Cas?" he asks, voice low and soft.

Cas frowns as he looks down at Dean. "Of course," he rumbles.

"How much?" Dean asks, teasing now, but part of him really wanting to know.

"Like the moon misses the sun," Castiel deadpans, but his eyes are dancing, playing along now.

"Shit, that must be a lot," Dean says, blowing another puff of breath against Castiel's cock, which sends the angel groaning.

"Dean, my patience is waning," Castiel rasps out, hips pushing against Dean's hold.

Dean chuckles softly, stroking one hand up and down Castiel's muscled thigh. "Maybe if you ask me nicely," he teases, fingers brushing against the warm, sensitive shadows of Castiel's inner thigh.

Castiel growls softly, " _Dean._ "

Dean lets out a huff of soft laughter, both hands wrapping around Castiel's hips again. "Tell me what you want, Cas."

"I want your mouth," the angel rumbles softly.

"And I want your cock, so I guess we're good to go," Dean says, and he doesn't ask before he kisses the flushed, dark head of Castiel's now rock-hard cock. 

Cas groans loudly and leans forward enough to slide the crown across Dean's mouth, a slow swipe that paints pre-come along Dean's bottom lip. Dean licks the bitter liquid from his lips and puckers up to press another soft kiss against the tip. His tongue then flicks out across the silky, dusky skin, and above him Cas breathes in a ragged inhale, shifting his hips a bit in soft search of more. 

Dean reaches one hand up, his fingers running reverently over the dark, veined skin of Castiel's thick length. Cas bucks his hips again, bumping his cock along Dean's mouth, seeking entrance. Dean opens a little wider to suckle at the head, licking it like it's the best damp lollipop he's ever had.

"Dean," Castiel groans, and Dean decides to stop teasing the eons-old angel. He opens his mouth wider for Cas, wanting to give his friend what he needs so badly. 

Cas moans loud and deep, and it sounds almost surreal in the way it bounces across the room as he pushes his way inside. Dean sucks the head fully into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it and letting his senses drown in the musky lightning-bolt smell of Castiel, the secret, dark taste of him. Dean loves taking Cas inside himself, hard and hot and pulsing against his tongue. 

Castiel thrusts in softly and whispers Dean's name like a prayer, and Dean smiles around the thick fullness of Castiel's cock, swallowing him down deeper. His tongue spreads wide and presses up against the underside of the shaft, and spit runs down Dean's lips as he works it further into his mouth. Cas braces both hands above Dean's head against the headboard and starts to fuck Dean's mouth with slow, glorious drags of his hips. 

Dean moans around Castiel's cock, his every nerve ending threaded through with want, his own cock hardening and sparking to life. When Dean takes him deeper, his gag reflex overcome years ago, Cas looks down at him, muttering words that heat the blood in Dean's veins, a string of sounds that could be spell or chant or prayer, a hint of power that leaves Dean shivering. Sounds too much like the shit Cas used to whisper to him in the dark, telling Dean he's worthy of this kind of love and devotion, worthy of the life they've created together.

Cas pulls free, and Dean's gasping, his body shaking, all-over electric. He takes in a few deep gulps of air and then buries his nose in Castiel's dark, curling pubes. He uses one hand to stroke him slowly, while he licks under his balls and sucks the shifting, velvety skin into his mouth. Dean strokes him faster, and Castiel's breath shatters into soft moans, his voice breaking on Dean's name again and again.

Dean opens his mouth, takes him inside of him again, his body responding to Castiel's frantic gasps and whimpers. It's faster this time, both of them riding the tight tension for all its worth. Dean focuses in on the racket of Castiel's breathing, and the feel of Castiel pumping inside of him. Cas is gripping the headboard so hard it's shaking with every thrust, his hips jerking uncontrollably as he pushes into Dean's mouth.

When Castiel first screams Dean's name, the sound of it rattles the glass of the windows. He throws his head back and yells it again, shuddering out two, three, four more quick thrusts before he comes, shooting hard into the back of Dean's throat. Castiel's taste, something unlike anything Dean's ever known before, salt and fire and light and earth, explodes across his tongue, and Dean whimpers, sucking Cas down.

Cas pulls off, but he's still pumping come, and Dean lifts his head up, licking at the warm, thick seed now spilling across his lips and dribbling down his chin. Cas looks down at him, holding himself braced above Dean for a long moment, eyes taking him in. Dean runs his tongue across his lips, chasing what he can.

"Are you alright?" Castiel whispers, and his voice is sandpaper over gravel. He looks wrecked, hair wild, eyes blown.

"Fucking golden," Dean croaks, throat raw and fucked-out.

With the agility and speed of a battle-trained warrior of God, Cas leaps across Dean's body and settles himself against Dean's right side. He cups Dean's head in his hands, and then Dean's there, opening his mouth again and letting Castiel in, their tongues slicking together, tangling and moving in a soft, slow dance.

Tired moans of contentment pass between them, fingers locking together as they come down. Cas pulls away only to move his mouth lower, to nip at Dean's jaw, to suck at the skin of his neck for long, incredible moments, and Dean knows he's going to have to explain away the row of hickeys tomorrow. Cas could heal all of Dean's marks of course, but Dean never wants him to, likes to hold on to them for as long as he can, something to keep with him when Cas is gone. 

Cas keeps at it, mouth hot and sweet and wet as he noses and kisses and licks behind Dean's ear and down along his throat and across his collarbone. When he draws in to kiss Dean's lips again, it's desperate and breathless and hungry and fucking perfect, kissing him like Dean's never been kissed by anyone else. Like Dean's his entire reason for being. 

And that, well that's too fucking much to even think about, the reality of it grounding out deep down in Dean's gut, making him shake with it. Dean says, "Don't want you to go," as they pull apart, and his voice is so deep, a ragged rumble of sound, he doesn't even recognize it. 

"Dean," Cas manages, too low, too soft. 

Dean shakes his head, hating himself for saying what he said. "I didn't mean that. I'm sorry, just come here," he whispers, pulling Castiel's face to him to kiss him again, but he can't help the low helpless whine that works its way out of his throat. He's shivering, but Cas is shaking just as hard, and Dean rests his head against Castiel's chest, listens to the rapid trapped-bird-in-a-cage rhythm of Castiel's heart beating.

_They can get through this_ , he tells himself. They can.

*

They spend the rest of the morning in bed, hands touching each other, eyes watching each other, but never talking. The sheets are filthy with sweat and spunk, Dean's hungrier than a motherfucker, but neither of them make a move to leave, their room turned quiet sanctuary. 

From time to time Castiel rests his hand on the soft rise of Dean's stomach, fingers dipping down only to play in the thatch of honey-brown hair that runs down to where Dean's cock rests soft against his leg. 

Sometimes Cas watches him, and Dean watches him right back. If Dean's honest with himself, he'll admit that he could stare at Cas all day. Right now the angel's all long legs and arms spread open and lazy across the soft indigo-blue sheets of their bed. Dean watches the slight rise and fall of his chest, and the way the warm light makes his skin glow gold and bounces off his raven-black hair.

Their bed is low and wide and soft; incredibly comfortable. The feel of the sun on their skin is lazy and warm, and their hands follow it, tracing its patterns across their bodies. They might even have slept for a while, but it all feels like a dream so much so that Dean can't tell one thing from the other. The window's open and a warm mountain breeze pulls at the curtains. And Dean thinks about a lifetime of long hunts, tar-black roads and demon-black eyes. He thinks about selling his soul to save his brother, and an angel of the lord saving him from Hell. 

"Sometimes," Dean confesses to Castiel's watching eyes, "I imagine that I feel you in bed with me at night, that I feel your kiss."

Castiel rolls on his belly and props himself up on his elbows and says, "I imagine that often as well."

Dean nods, reaching out a hand to finger along the scruff covering Castiel's chin. "So, it's not real?"

The bed creaks as Castiel settles closer. He cups Dean's cheek with one hand and says, "What is real? If we both imagine it at the same moment, our thoughts meeting somewhere in the distance between us, maybe that makes it real. Maybe there is power in the thought."

Dean smiles, liking the idea. "Yeah."

Castiel slides his lips against Dean's temple, nose pressed to his skin, his hand going to Dean's belly, fingers spreading possessive-wide and holding still for a moment. Cas turns to look down at Dean's abdomen, and his fingers begin to draw a set of invisible, concentric circles across the skin of Dean's belly. Dean shivers at the ticklish touch, but then he's distracted by Castiel whispering quiet words that he just barely recognizes.

"Cas, what—"

"Protection for you and our child," Castiel interrupts on a soft breath.

"Oh," Dean says, swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat. "Thanks." 

Castiel's hand stills, and he looks up at Dean and whispers, "You're beautiful."

"Stop saying that," Dean groans, pulling Cas close and hiding his head in the hollow of Castiel's shoulder. He's blushing again for fuck's sake. "Y'know you get only one free pass a day for saying sappy shit to me."

Castiel hums, tugs Dean closer, and covers his ear with his mouth as he whispers, "What if I don't say it?" 

Dean frowns as Cas twists away to pick up the notepad and pen Dean always keeps on the side table by the phone. Cas scribbles something on the first page, and he turns the pad towards Dean. 

أنت جميل

Dean arches a brow. "Arabic, really Cas?"

Castiel's lips quirk. He tosses the pad and pen aside and leans in and kisses Dean softly on the forehead. "You should just accept praise when given."

Dean grunts, but he doesn't respond, because this is getting ridiculous enough, and he doesn't understand why Castiel's words hurt to hear. He curls his arms around Castiel's shoulders, and they tangle together. They're quiet for another long moment.

"You're the beautiful one, Cas," Dean whispers after a while, quietly embarrassed at the words coming out of his own mouth. "Everything about you. I just...sometimes I...when I look at you...I."

_I can't believe you're real._

"I'm sorry I've been gone so long," Castiel says lowly, breath moist and heavy against Dean's cheek.

"It's cool," Dean whispers back, shrugging it off, not wanting to think about it anymore today.

"It's not, as you say, _cool_ ," Castiel says, tone gone serious. "I will try to come more often."

Dean just nods. It's enough that Cas is pressed close, watching Dean as he always does. One of his hands presses low on Dean's belly, under his navel. "Just stay safe," Dean whispers. 

"I will," Castiel promises.

Dean's about to say something else, but his body goes rigid when he hears the doorknob jiggling. _What the fuck._

"Papa?!" a high-pitched and familiar voice emanates from just outside the bedroom door.

"I'm gonna kill Sammy," Dean breathes out.

"It would seem that Sam has returned with our first-born child," Cas mumbles against Dean's neck.

Dean huffs, "No shit, Cas." 

But Dean doesn't move. He lays still for a moment, face nestled into the curve of Castiel's neck, breathing in their combined musky scent. Maybe if they don't make a sound...

"Papa, Uncle Sammy says you're hiding from us!" Mari shouts, and the doorknob rattles again. "Is Daddy hiding in there with you too?"

Cas grunts, and Dean weeps silently, but then he raises his head and yells toward the door, "Baby girl, we're coming! Just give Papa and Daddy a few minutes okay? And tell your Uncle Sammy that he's in trouble!"

"Okay, Daddy!" Mari says, her last words turning into a soft muffle through the doorway as she moves away.

Dean groans, pulling Cas closer. "I'm so glad she hasn't learned to just teleport into the room yet," he whispers.

Cas nods, pressing his lips to Dean's neck in a soft kiss. "Anna and I suspect that power will not come before puberty."

"Thank god for small miracles," Dean huffs.

"Large ones too," Cas adds.

"You suck so much," Dean whispers grumpily.

"I think you were the one just engaged in sucking," Castiel says, humor flickering along the deep gravel of his voice.

"Hate you," Dean whispers, pulling him closer and hiding his blood-flushed cheek in his neck.

"You keep saying that, but I'm finding it hard to believe you," Castiel murmurs.

"Yeah, yeah," Dean says, kissing Cas gently, a bare brush of lips. 

"Papa? What are you doing in there?" Mari's voice carries through the door again, and Dean can hear Sam's muffled laughter in the background, and yeah, baby bro's definitely going down.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I know you’ve been through a hell of a lot already,” she says. “But raising these kids…it’s the hardest thing you’ll ever do. But you’ll do it well and you’ll do it right. You wouldn’t be Dean Winchester if you didn’t.”
> 
> A canon-based Dean/Castiel domestic!fic. This is a work-in-progress being penned for November's Nanowrimo challenge.

**five**

For hundreds of years, Moonriver valley has been a fertile, low-lying swale between mountains. The Handoah River twists like a snake through it, working its way through the foothills into the surrounding Appalachian mountain ranges before joining up with the system of waterways that'll carry it toward the Atlantic.

The land is old, and maybe that's something Dean likes most about it. Today, the valley's trees are green and lush, and the sun is high in the blue Carolina sky. The silence of the place is broken only by the river: rushing towards its destination, water gurgling as it hits the rocks and bubbling as it flows pass the muddy banks. 

From his spot on the riverbank, Dean is watching two of the people he loves most in the world make up for lost time. The river is shallow here where it passes on their property, slow-moving and calm enough for swimming. Cas is standing in a low part of the riverbed, barefooted, pale feet in the shallow water, stripped to the waist. Mari is in his arms, hands outstretched to the sky, giggling loud enough to be heard over the sound of the water.

When Cas puts her down on the bank, she hop-scotches away from him, moving fast along the bend in the river, smiling back at them when she's a few feet away. Dean grins, stripping until he's down to just his swimming trunks, and follows after her.

When he reaches her, Mari pretends to be a mountain lion, baring her teeth and putting her hands up like fake claws. She roars, her little voice carrying into the forest. Dean fake-snarls back at her, and then he makes a quick, predator-like motion toward her. She squeaks, and he picks her up and swings her around, growling and tickling her as she giggles-yelps-wriggles in his arms.

This is one of their favorite games. Wild animals of the forest. "Grrrrr," he laughs, fake-nibbling on her shoulder as she squirms in his arms. He loops her arms around his neck and carries her out to the place where the water is knee-high. They wade in the river for a while, playing shark against mountain lion, until they're both tired and laughing so hard they can't keep it together.

After a time, Dean carries her back toward Cas, who's standing where the water's about a foot deep. He places Mari down between them, watches as her feet glide along the pebble and clay-rich bottom. In the winter this old bed runs full, swelling so fast when the river runs its banks. The wet Carolina winters also leave behind the most fertile soil, and Dean finds the following growing seasons some of the best he's ever known. During that time, the valley itself is carpeted by wild flowers, orchids and lupins and poppies. Mari loves it.

A beat of wings interrupts the quiet, and they all look up to see a golden eagle soaring through the trees, brown wings gliding in a perfect arc as it streaks across the blue sky.

Mari's eyes widen, and Dean isn't surprised when she starts pulling at Castiel's swim trunks, pointing up at the sky.

"Can we Daddy?" she whispers.

Cas smiles down at her, and then he and Mari both turn towards Dean, their gazes deep and eerily tangible as they meet his. It's kind of weird how their eyes resemble four flickering, matching flames. _Friggin'_ angels, Dean thinks, but he cracks a smile, nodding his agreement. Flying is the one thing he can't do with Mari, but Cas takes her out every time he comes home, letting her get use to working her small wings while he holds on to her. She probably won't be able to fly on her own until she hits puberty, but even then Dean doesn't think he'll be comfortable letting her out of his sight. 

He looks down at her now, and she's all freckles and big green eyes in a pointed face, skinny arms and bony knees. "Don't tire Daddy out too much," he tells her.

"I won't," she says, taking Castiel's hand in her own. "I'll take care of him."

Dean smiles. "That's my girl."

"Will you wait for us here?" Cas asks him.

Dean nods, and just like that Cas and Mari are gone in a flutter of beating wings and warm wind. He exhales roughly, and heads back to solid ground. He dries off and settles himself down on the blanket they'd spread out over the grass beside the river. He pulls his shirt back on and wraps himself in the patchwork quilt they'd brought with them. They'd eaten lunch earlier, and Dean takes a moment to repack the picnic basket. He keeps out a bag of Doritos and munches on them while he waits. 

The air smells nice, muddy and earthy this close to the river. The trees arch tall above him as Dean settles on his back, hand behind his head, eyes turned toward the sky. For a while he just looks out across tree tops, listens to the birds calling to each other, watches the wind push the clouds across the sky.

With every splash of color that rockets across the deep blue expanse, he wonders if its them. He knows they're probably traveling in some weird multi-dimensional plane invisible to the human eye, but he keeps looking, squinting.

The wind moans in the trees, and after a while Dean closes his eyes. Listens. Sleeps for a time.

He wakes to Mari singing in his ears, her voice soft and child-high, an old tune that Dean recognizes as something by Bob Seger.

She's kneeling beside him, and when he smiles up at her, he reaches up and picks a large leaf from her tussled hair. "Hi pumpkin," he says, voice sleep rough. "Did you have fun?"

"Lots," she whispers. "Daddy went fast!"

Dean arches a brow at that, turning his head to Cas, who's looking guiltily his way.

"We thought we'd try something new," the angel says, shrugging.

Dean humphs, but sits up and helps Mari put her dress back on over her bathing suit. 

She settles into Dean's lap, and Dean kisses the top of her windblown hair. "How's my baby girl doing?"

"I'm doing good, Papa," she whispers her answer into Dean's chest, her small hand resting over Dean's protruding belly. 

Dean glances up and meets Castiel's eyes. Cas smiles over at him, and then he leans closer. Their lips meet over Mari's curly head as they kiss softly.

"What was that for?" Dean whispers against Castiel's lips when they draw apart. 

"For everything," Cas says softly. And Dean thinks he maybe knows what Cas means.

*

Dean pauses for a moment when he walks into the mud-room Saturday evening, smiling as he sees Castiel's trenchcoat and his own leather jacket hanging side by side from the wall hooks, tan cotton nestled against faded brown leather hide. Mari's slick yellow raincoat hangs on a lower hook, far enough down for her to reach it.

Their first morning together was good. Dean cooked breakfast for Cas and Mari, blueberry pancakes drenched in maple syrup. He smiled as he watched Cas help Mari get ready – picking her up so that she could reach the sink in order to brush her teeth. Wresting her hair into two ponytails, and then helping her step into her favorite (albeit paint-splattered) pair of OshKosh B'Gosh denim overalls. 

Cas himself had finally gotten rid of the suit; he'd gone casual in a white, long-sleeved thermal with a "How To Pick Up Chicks" t-shirt pulled over it (given to him by Sam last Christmas, the t-shirt shows a stick figure attempting to pick up yellow baby chickens). A pair of Dean's ratty jeans showed off Castiel's narrow waist, the denim hanging deliciously low on his hips. At inopportune moments of the day, Dean would find himself slapping Castiel's perky ass in passing, which led to Cas sending him deadly glares and pressing him up against walls for kisses.

During the early afternoon, Cas and Mari spent some time in the garden with Jemma, while Dean worked on the car, changing the oil and giving her a much-needed tune-up. His girl's nearing fifty, but she still runs like a dream. The rest of the day had been a blur of household activity. Raking leaves, cleaning out the gutters, weed-whacking the garden. 

Dean's worn out by early evening, but in a good way. It felt good working alongside Cas, almost like old times. Minus the killing monsters, exorcising demons, and dealing with dick angels part. They invited Sam, Amelia, Jemma, as well as Rufus and his wife Kai, over for dinner, and that's how Dean currently finds himself setting up the grill out back. 

The grill is a mammoth monster taking up a good portion of their backyard patio. Cas is in the house helping Mari get cleaned up, so Dean spends the next few minutes laying down the coal, firing up the grill, and setting up the picnic tables with the needed utensils and dishes. He's got a pan of chicken, ribs, and beef patties to put on the grill, and he even had Cas cut up a bowl of vegetables earlier for veggie shish kabobs (mostly so that Sam won't complain about Dean not getting enough vitamins for the baby). Amelia's bringing her amazing potato salad, and Jemma's on pie duty (this week it's pecan). Sam's bringing a green salad because well, Sam is Sam. 

Dean's seasoning the chicken in the kitchen sink when Cas comes down, Mari trailing behind him in a soft blue dress and blue ribbons in her hair, Colt cradled in her arms. 

"How's my two favorite people?" Dean asks them as Cas comes up and kisses him behind his ear and Mari places the cat down in front of its water bowl. Colt meows up at her, until she scratches behind its ears and whispers forget-me-nots into its black fur. Dean smirks; that cat has got her tied around its little paw.

"Mari and I were just speaking about how much we're looking forward to tonight," Cas says as he settles beside Dean at the sink and takes over cleaning and seasoning the meat for him. Through the kitchen door comes the smell of the burgers Dean already has slowly cooking on the grill, and Dean moves over to the other sink to wash his hands, letting the warm water and aloe-scented soap slide across his calloused skin.

"They're gonna grill you about why you've been gone so long, you know that right?" Dean says, wiping his hands on a dish towel and heading to the fridge to get out the condiments.

"I know," Castiel says, voice a low whisper under the sound of running water. 

"Just be forewarned," Dean says, sighing as he turns to watch Mari run her fingers through the soft fur of Colt's belly. 

"You're worried?" Cas says, coming up behind Dean and placing a comforting hand on his lower back. 

Dean turns his head, meeting Castiel's inquisitive eyes. "I just don't want tonight turning into another war planning meeting is all," he whispers. 

Castiel sighs quietly. He's carrying tongs, and he has a towel flipped over one shoulder, both of which he sets down before leaning in and pressing his mouth to Dean's ear. "We won't let it," he whispers.

"Yeah." Dean breathes in deep, taking in the smell of basil and oregano now clinging to Castiel's skin. He presses a kiss to Castiel's lips and then pulls back, headed to check on his grill. 

"Bring that chicken when you're done, eh?" Dean calls out he slides opens the patio door.

Cas grumbles something at him, but Dean's got his eye on the smoking grill and his ear to the sizzling pop of juices on the air.

*

A half-hour later, dinner's in full swing. 

It's October, and the evening air is chilled, but the backyard is roasting hot from their non-stop cooking, that smoky, grilled flavor lingering on Dean's tongue as he mans the grill. Dusk has settled over the mountains and a string of torch lights keeps the yard lit up as their dinner guests sit in a circle chatting and drinking. 

When Dean heads back inside the house, he takes a lingering look around the living room, coffee table cluttered with paperback novels and half-drunk cups of tea gone cold. He heads over to his record player and puts on some Stones; he runs his fingertip over the hanging needle and the speakers crackle and snap to life. He listens to the familiar music for a while.

_Childhood living is easy to do..._

Growing up, Dean never had friends. He had Sammy. Sometimes John. He had the Impala and the things he built from the scrap parts he found at Bobby's. He had his boot-legged cassette tapes, a handful of LPs, and the few paperbacks he managed to pick up in gas stations and used book stores on the road (he still owned the first two books from Orson Scott Card's _Ender's Game_ series, and a coverless, dog-eared copy of Vonnegut's _Slaughterhouse-Five_.) He had one-night stands, and he had hunting. He had his father's orders, which gave his life meaning for a long time.

But now he has a house, friends, and a patchwork family. Sometimes Dean thinks it's all another Djinn-dream. One he knows, deep down, he'd never be strong enough to break himself out of. Not this time.

"You okay?"

Dean jerks out of his thoughts to see Sam staring at him with concern. 

"I’m – yeah," Dean says, nodding. "Just thinking how good it is to see everyone."

"It _is_ good," Sam says, nodding his shaggy head and nudging Dean in the arm to head back outside.

Dean turns the music up so that it will drift through the doors, and follows behind his brother. He slides open the patio door and smiles at the scene around him. The smell of barbeque smoke is thick on the air, and Rufus is holding court, grizzled and loud and drunk as ever. He has his gorgeous wife, Kai, curled at his side. 

The Turners live about a two-hour drive away, deep in the mountains on a piece of land that's more hunter commune than anything else. Packs of hunters and their families wander in and out of the compound, seeking shelter, information, training, or some much-needed respite. A couple of years ago, Rufus was badly injured on a hunt, undergoing the sort of near-death experience that inspires early retirement. On that hunt he also met his current wife and retired school teacher, Kai, and together they founded a sort of hunter training camp that runs for three weeks, four times a year on their property. The camp trains hunters in skills they need to survive, while educating them on lore and history. Rufus recruited Bobby, Sam, and Dean to help out once it was up and running. Dean teaches a few classes now and again, and to be honest, he enjoys it. Even if he's not directly involved in the hunter life anymore, he likes to help with research when he can, and providing information and other things needed for running the school has been an added bonus.

Dean turns to where Amelia is watching Mari, and his kid is squealing as she chases Sam's wooly mammoth of a mutt and Jemma's giant sandy-haired collie around the yard. Colt's curled up in Castiel's lap, seeking protection from the crazy, and Cas is speaking quietly to Jemma, his raspy voice melding in with the music. Dean knows he's probably talking about the garden, the things that need to be done and the equipment that needs to be brought. Or maybe he's talking about Dean, getting caught up on how Dean and the baby are doing. Something about that makes Dean smile.

"You just gonna stand here and watch him or are you going to head over?" Sam asks, joining Dean at the grill.

"I'm not creeping on him," Dean says, lifting the lid of his grill.

"Never said you were," Sam laughs, quiet and a little knowing. 

Dean's fingers tighten around the tongs in his hand. "I wasn't."

Arching an eyebrow, Sam grins. "Right."

"Keep it up, and I'm gonna tell Amelia embarrassing stories from your childhood," Dean says, throwing his brother a chastising look. "Remember third grade? Your Mr. Wiener Beenie Man costume?"

"You're an ass," Sam laughs, leaning down to grab a cold beer out of the cooler sitting next to the grill. 

"Whatever dude," Dean says, leaning over the grill to brush more sauce on the chicken. 

"So," Sam begins, popping the top of his beer bottle, "You and Cas make up or what?"

"No thanks to you," Dean says, pointing his tongs at Sam's broad chest.

"Hey, I kept Mari for the night," Sam says, smirking as he drinks half of his beer in one gulp.

Dean closes the lid on the grill and eyes his little brother skeptically. "And you then spent an hour outside our bedroom door laughing at us."

"Y'all are so adorable, how can I help myself," Sam says, cheeky smile crossing his face.

"Bitch, go get the plates so we can start serving dinner," Dean says, huffing as he shoves his brother away. Sam ducks away from Dean's hands, laughing as he goes.

"Hey Sam, bring me one of those longnecks!" Rufus hollers from across the yard, and Dean watches his brother grab a few more beers out of the cooler before heading over to where Rufus is relaxing beside Kai on a set of lawn chairs.

Dean reaches down into the cooler and grabs a root beer for himself, eyes lingering on the bottle of Bud Light. He doesn't drink as much as he used to, not since he first became pregnant with Mari. In the months after her birth, he realized that he didn't need to lean on drinking as much as he once did. It was Bobby that first noticed Dean's new-found sobriety, a year into their move to North Carolina. Dean hadn't been able to mention to Bobby the exact reasons why he'd given up the bottle. Truth is, Dean just has one too many memories of John with a bottle, his red-rimmed eyes and slurred words late at night, his biting, drunken shouts when Dean or Sam made a mistake. Dean doesn't want Mari to ever see him that way, to see Dean that broken, that far gone.

It's not that Dean's not tempted to drown his sorrows again. He is. More than. And while he'll let himself indulge now and again, he holds back from losing himself in alcohol and a bottle of pills just to get through the night. Right now he's got something to work for, and that's making sure Mari has a better childhood than anything he and Sam knew. 

Dean's root-beer bottle is cool and sweating moisture in his hand. He brings it to his lips and takes a long gulp, letting the bubbly sweet liquid slide down his smoke-dry throat.

Night settles in across the backyard, and soon enough everyone's served and seated at the picnic table. Dean is working on a rack of ribs, licking the spicy sauce from his fingers greedily and belching loud enough to earn matching looks of horror from both Mari and Sam. Mari's seated beside Jemma, and spends most of dinner scooping spoonfuls of potato salad into her mouth. Cas spends his time taking giant bites of his burger, while Sam and Amelia make doe eyes at each other when not throwing bones to the dogs.

The dinner conversation flows easy. Sam talks about school, dealing with the new crop of undergrads, lesson plans, and teaching assistants. It took them both a while to get here, but Dean thinks maybe Sam's content, found his second calling using his hard-earned knowledge of folklore and history to wow his students (all of whom, according to Amelia, have major crushes on him, which would explain why Sam's classes are overbooked every semester. Sam claims it's because of his brilliant mind, but Dean has to remind Sam that it's likely because no other history professor has a six pack and biceps the size of Maine).

The discussion eventually turns to the Turner camp's upcoming opening weekend, and from there it's a predictable move toward talk of hunting: they trade old stories about sirens and harpies, mermen and selkies, werewolves and ghouls. They're all retired men here, and while hunting almost seems like another lifetime ago for Sam and Dean, Dean knows that nothing about the hunter life lets them go fully. It'll always be with them. They'll always be hunters.

Cas does manage to keep the conversation away from the war, and after a time he wraps a sleepy-looking Mari in his arms and prepares to take her to bed. Dean gets up to walk them both toward the house, one hand on Castiel's back and the other petting his own belly, feeling satisfied and sated after a good meal. The house is lit up from the inside, all long shadows and yellow light flooding through the windows. Dean drops his hand to rest around Castiel's wrist before the angel enters the house. 

"Hey, Cas," Dean says, watching Mari rub at her eyes and nudge her face against Castiel's shoulder. Cas runs his fingers through her hair, moving loose strands away from her face before turning to look up at Dean. 

"Yes, Dean?" Cas says, meeting Dean's eyes.

"We're reading _Charlotte's Web_ at the moment," he says. "I try to read her a chapter every night."

"Isn't that the book you said made Sam cry as a child?" Cas says, frowning. 

Dean chuckles softly, running a finger over Castiel's scruffy chin. He leans in and kisses Cas on the cheek and then kisses Mari on the top of her head. "That book makes everyone cry. But it was next on the reading list, and Mari said she was ready," he explains. 

"Okay," Cas whispers and then leans in and kisses Dean on the mouth chastely before pulling away and turning to work his way inside. 

Dean's momentarily distracted by Colt wrapping itself around his legs. The cat bumps its head against Dean's calves a couple of times, and Dean eventually reaches down to pick it up, scritching it's head. It purrs with pleasure, and okay, maybe it is kind of cute when it does that. 

Dean heads back over to the group, dropping Colt off in Sam's lap before grabbing a water bottle and settling down in his lawn chair.

"You're on diaper duty when this one comes," Dean says, rubbing his belly and angling a look at Sam.

"Why do I get stuck with diaper duty?" Sam asks, brow furrowing.

"Dude, I changed your stinky diapers for years," Dean says, smirking. "You owe me."

Sam huffs a breath, looking victimized. "That's not fair, man."

Dean shrugs, pointing his water bottle Sam's way. "You use to make the cutest little face every time you pooped," he digs, chuckling.

"You're a terrible human being, I hope you know that," Sam says, while Amelia comes over and curls herself in Sam's arms, laughing against his chest.

"Says the guy who peed all over my favorite pair of Thundercats pajama pants," Dean says, shaking his head at the horror of it.

"I was a baby!" Sam whines, and good god, he's bringing out the puppy-dog eyes now.

Dean throws up his arms. "Excuses, excuses!"

"Dean," Amelia says, laughing so hard, she's shaking. "Your brother will make it all up to you. We promise a lot of babysitting and diaper changing."

"Thank god," Dean breathes out, settling back in his seat. "Baby boys pee all over the place! Just ask Sammy!" He chuckles and closes his eyes to the sound of laughing, his hand resting on his belly. He's drifting off when he hears Kai say his name. He cracks open his eyes and turns to her, taking a sip from his water bottle as he sits up. 

"Sugah," Kai says, waving her wine glass at him. "When's the wedding?"

Dean chokes on his water. "'Scuse me?" he rasps, wiping the water from his chin and t-shirt.

"North Carolina is still the South," Jemma interrupts helpfully, smiling around her beer bottle. "Don't think it's legal here yet, Kai."

"We can always do a private ceremony, just for the two of them," Kai explains in a voice that sounds way too much like she's totally _not_ joking. "Have them declare their love before God and family, state and federal recognition be damned. My mother was a Geechee priestess, and she performed many wedding ceremonies in her day. She passed on the title to me, and I can officiate it as a spiritual union. You can even come back to my home in the Sea Islands, and we can perform the ceremony there on the beach. I remember how much you liked it there."

Dean's mouth opens and closes a few times, and he has to duck his head and clear his throat before he can speak. "I...uh...well...that's um...wow."

"What Dean is trying to say is that he'll think about it," Sam says, snorting.

Rufus grunts, "Bout time angelface makes an honest woman out of you, dontcha think, Dean?"

Dean knows he's redder that the tomatoes he put on the burgers, but thank god, Cas comes out of the house at that moment, having finished putting Mari to bed. 

"Cas, save me, please?" Dean croaks as he watches his friend join the gathered guests.

"From what?" Cas says, head tilted, brow furrowed as he looks around, probably looking for some unseen enemy.

"From our meddling family that's what," Dean mutters, shooting stink eyes at the people sitting around him.

Sam's laughing, and so are Amelia and Jemma. Rufus is shaking his head, looking exasperated, while Kai is smiling at him. Dean swears Sam is laughing so hard wine almost comes out of his nose. Assbutt.

Dean looks down at his hands. Mumbles, "I hate you all."

"Dean, sweetheart," Kai says, voice carrying over the sound of laughter. "The offer is there if you want it."

"What offer?" Castiel asks, turning to her.

"I offered to marry you two," she says softly.

Cas turns to Dean, eyebrows raised so high they might fly off of his face any second. "Dean, you wish for us to get married?"

Dean groans, covering his face with his hands and sliding down in his lawn chair. "I didn't say that."

"You guys have to understand that Dean will always be a commitment-phobe," Sam says when he's recovered from his laughing fit.

Dean eyes go very wide, and he looks over at his brother. "Cas and I live together and have a kid," he huffs. "Why mess with a perfectly fine arrangement?"

Sam watches him with a playful twist to his lips. "What are you so afraid of Dean?"

Dean lets out a deep exhale, his shoulders hunching forward as he tries to meet Castiel's eyes, but Cas is watching Kai, a considering look on his face. 

"Dean and I will discuss it and get back to you," Castiel tells her quietly, and Dean feels his heart do a little leap-hop-shake in his chest. _They'll do what now?_

Kai is five-feet-four inches of intelligence and charm. Stubborn persistence as well. She turns to Dean and smirks. "You boys do that."

Sam whistles soft and long. "I think I may have to start working on my best-man speech."

Dean makes a noise that probably sounds a lot like a sob and leans forward and rests his arms on his thighs. Cas takes a seat on the lawn chair beside Dean and says lowly, "Are you uncomfortable with the conversation, Dean?"

Dean takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his hair, and offers Cas a smile. "No," he says weakly.

Cas slants him a look. "I find that hard to believe."

Dean grunts, and Cas runs a hand down Dean's arm to catch his hand and twine their fingers together and says, "We can discuss Kai's proposal later if you'd like."

"Cas, what do we even need to discuss?" Dean whispers.

"Dean," Cas says, voice carrying a hint of something Dean can't quite recognize. He does recognize the way that Cas is watching him – amused, but also curious, like he's trying to figure something out. 

"What?" Dean says, face feeling hot.

Cas smiles, trailing his fingers over Dean's shoulder, up his neck, into the hair at the crown of his head, tugging a little, then soothing. "Or we can discuss it when you're ready," he says quietly.

Dean slouches in his lawn chair, his eyes still fixed on Castiel's face. Castiel's fingers keep tugging and petting his head in turns until the tension leaves Dean's body, and he finally understands why Colt purrs so much when Cas pets its belly. 

Dean closes his eyes, and he doesn't even realize he's fallen asleep until Cas wakes him up much later. The backyard is empty, their guests having gone home. 

Cas is leaning over him, fingers brushing against his forehead. "Time for bed," he says.

"You clean up everything?" Dean asks, feeling groggy as he sits up.

"Sam and Amelia helped before they left," Cas says. "They said to tell you thank you. Everyone said they had a nice time."

"M'glad," Dean whispers, voice rough. He stretches out his arms, working the kinks out of his back. He scoots to the edge of his chair, and still too sleepy and too full to stand, he puts out his hand. "Can you help this pregnant dude up, Cas?"

Cas takes his hand and pulls Dean up with ease. They stand in front of each other for a long moment before Cas leans in and brings their lips together. Castiel's kiss tastes like pecan pie, his tongue heavy and languid in Dean's mouth. _Mmm mmm, good_ , Dean thinks.

"You taste really sweet," Dean mumbles after a minute of breathless lip locking, the stars in the skies spinning and looking a little brighter now.

Castiel's hand rubs up and down Dean's spine. "Tell me more about that in bed," he whispers, pulling Dean into his arms and walking them back toward the house.

*

It rains all day Sunday. 

There's something about the blue-grey drone of a rainstorm that makes a house feel smaller, cozier. The steady drumbeat rhythm has a way of making one's heartbeat and footsteps mimic it, slowing everything down, working a lazy pace into the day. Dean likes rainstorms for this reason. As a kid, he used to like how Sammy would crawl into his bed in need of extra warmth and protection during a night-time storm. It was easy to be a big brother back then, when all Sam needed was a gentle word and an arm around his shoulder. During those nights, Dean would lie awake, close his eyes against his pillowcase, and imagine he was doing his job well, protecting his family.

Dean and Cas spend most of the morning in the living room with Mari. She works on math homework, humming softly, while Dean relaxes in front of a _Back to the Future_ marathon on TV, heating pad on his lower back and his feet elevated on their black leather ottoman. He may have overexerted himself yesterday, and although Cas always offers to heal him, Dean likes doing things the old-fashioned way if he can. No need for any angel mojo when a little rest and a heating pad will do.

In the middle of the floor, Cas sits surrounded by towers of old, dusty books. He's sorting through the tomes on angel lore that Bobby had given to him, but Cas is writing his own books in a way, making corrections in the margins, adding notes to the header. _This is how the war was actually fought..._

After lunch they sit on the porch, watching the rain slip down into the circle of evergreens. The day is cool, ripe with the smell of ozone. From their porch they can see far across the homestead, the low structures of work sheds nestled between knotted trees, the largest tree on the property housing the platform for the treehouse Dean started working on for Mari before he became pregnant with Danny. Once Danny's born, Dean will finish it up, and it'll be a place the kids can play in together. It'll probably be forgotten once they both come into their wings, but Dean hopes they'll at least get a few good years out of it. 

In the distance, there's the constant rustling of leaves flapping to and fro in the rain, and the gurgling sound of water tumbling through the rain gutters coming down from the roof. It's peaceful. The day has a deep blue feel to it, a twilight softness that has Dean pulling Cas and Mari close to him on the swing as they rock back and forth. Their body heat settles into Dean's skin, a missed comfort after so many weeks apart. Dean even thinks Danny feels it, the way his unborn baby boy kicks every time Cas and Mari cuddle closer to Dean, like he's ready to come out and join the family in their little cuddle pile on the porch swing.

In these moments Dean knows that every sacrifice has been worth it. Every single one.

*

Later than night, Cas sinks down and leans against Dean's side, their bodies slotting together on the couch. He smells like the homemade almond shampoo they use to wash Mari's hair. 

"How was bath time?" Dean asks, pressing his face into Castiel's neck and smiling. Cas had agreed to give Mari a bath before putting her to bed.

Cas curls closer to Dean and puts his arm around Dean's shoulders. "She only flooded part of the bathroom before I managed to get it under control."

Dean snorts, chuckling against Castiel's shoulder. "Her powers are growing, man."

"Yes," Castiel says, turning so that he can capture Dean's gaze. "But it is nothing to be concerned with. Most of her powers are still locked away, bound deep in her grace, and I suspect she won't come into them for many years yet."

Dean nods. "That's good. When you're around, you can use your mojo to counter her mojo. But sometimes I worry that...well, I worry."

"I know you do," Castiel says quietly. "But I'll be around more now. I'm making arrangements to see that several of my most trusted lieutenants take on more responsibility."

"You sure about that? Is that even what you want?" Dean asks, not wanting to get his hopes up, but desperately wanting to believe it.

"It's what I want, Dean," Castiel says, voice low and rough.

Dean exhales, nodding. He knows that Cas feels torn in two between two families that need him, two homes that need protecting. But Castiel's other family is full of dicks trying to kill him, and Dean hates that Cas has to keep returning to Heaven, putting himself at risk. 

Cas seems to sense Dean's concerns and pins Dean with one of those intense looks, like he's trying to drill his thoughts down into Dean's skull. He says, his voice rough over Dean's cheek, "It's what I want."

Cas touches Dean's cheek then, and Dean leans into it, loving the way Cas slides his hand against his face. The feel of it sends sparks of longing through his body. Cas looks down at him, and Dean knows Cas is telling him the truth, that this is what he wants; he can feel it pulsing in the rhythm of Castiel's heartbeat. Castiel's fingers slide up Dean's arm, into the hollow between Dean's collarbones. Then Cas is saying _Dean_ , with soft lips on his jaw and mouth, and Dean's melting into it, his hands coming up to hold Castiel's head, his other hand sliding down Castiel's spine to splay across his lower back.

"This is everything I want," Cas murmurs into Dean's slightly-open mouth, placing the barest pressure against his lips. His hands slide carefully into Dean's hair, fingers twisting. Heart pounding out of his chest, Dean takes Castiel's mouth, can't kiss him deep enough, long enough, good enough.

Breathless, they pull away after a few moments, eyes locked on each other.

"You know," Dean murmurs, hand sliding across the silk-soft couch cushion, "It's been a long time since we had sex on this couch."

Castiel looks down at the couch, frowning. "I find that hard to believe."

"It's sadly true," Dean says, shaking his head. "We've been neglecting it."

Castiel looks perturbed, eyes squinting as he thinks about it. "Last time I was here, we fornicated in many places: on the kitchen counter, on the kitchen island, on the dining room table, in the stairwell. I also lifted you onto the sink in our bathroom. Then there was the pool table in the basement. That time in the panic room, and in the shed outside..."

"Mmmhmm," Dean says, nodding at the memories those all conjure up. "I think the sofa was too mundane for us back then."

"We can always correct that oversight," Cas says, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Dean's neck.

Dean tilts his head up into the touch, smiling. "But first I want ice-cream."

"Ice-cream?" Cas asks, pulling back and tilting his head.

"Butternut-crunch, and can you add some potato chips on top and maybe some cookies too," Dean says, licking his lips. "Oh, and maybe some pickles? And a scoop of peanut butter?"

Cas squints down at him again, clearly perplexed.

"What?" Dean says, frowning.

"Human pregnancy seems to be increasing your already strange appetite," Cas says. 

"Whatever, dude," Dean says, patting his belly. "Don't trash it until you try it."

Dean knows he's won because a few minutes later, Cas comes back from the kitchen, arms loaded with food: a jar of peanut butter, a carton of ice-cream, a jar of pickles, a bag of potato chips, and a half-empty bag of Oreos.

Dean's mouth is watering by the time everything is set out on the coffee table, and the first thing he digs into is the ice-cream. The first bite is pure bliss, cool, crunchy, sweet buttery goodness on his tongue.

"Fuck, yeah," Dean hums around a giant spoonful.

Cas is watching him, brows furrowed, until Dean leans over with his spoon and feeds him some of the ice-cream, then kisses away what's left of it on his lips. "S'good, huh?" Dean asks.

Cas nods, licking his lips and pulling Dean in for another kiss. "Very good, Dean."

"More?" Dean asks, teasing softly.

Cas nods, and Dean sticks another spoonful of melting ice-cream into his mouth and then kisses him again, licking along his lips. "Mmm, Cas, I think you're my favorite topping," he says.

Castiel's mouth curls at that, and then he leans in and licks ice-cream from Dean's lips again.

After they finish eating, empty cookie bag and empty ice-cream carton tossed to the floor, Cas curls around Dean on the couch, pulling them close. His hand comes out to settle on Dean's (a bit bloated by now) belly. They spend the rest of the night on the couch, their fingers twining together, making out to the sound of rain.

 _So worth it_ , Dean thinks again. So goddamn worth it. He can only hope Cas agrees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's [t-shirt](http://i47.tinypic.com/2uyhgkm.jpg). Dean's [river](http://i47.tinypic.com/2vink13.jpg).


End file.
